Sins of the Father
by Fuujin Kishukaze
Summary: *Movie Based* When Harry Osborn is offered a chance to take over Oscorp after his father's death, he gets more than he bargained for.
1. The Lures of Big Business

Author's Note: Well, here's the first chapter of a fic I've been writing with Katrina Makani. Yes, I realize this chapter's a little slow, but trust me - the set-up is worth it for what's coming. ::grins:: Anyway, read and please review? This is the first multi-chapter fic I've ever written that I expect to get done... and reviews let me know that Katrina and I aren't not just writing for our health. Besides... I won't post any more of the fic if we don't get reviews. ^_-  
  
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Two weeks. His father had been dead two weeks and yet the shadow of guilt and the intense feeling of failing somehow hung over Harry Osborn like the red and blue Grim Reaper that had stolen his father from him. And the man that had taken his father's life - Spiderman as he was called by the Daily Bugle - would pay dearly. That much, Harry had already decided. Now, it was just a matter of how, and the auburn-haired youth's mind had already started brewing ideas.  
  
Pushing aside the term paper he had been working on, he reached for a blank piece of paper. And then absently, half attempting to design some fantastic way of defeating the 'super hero' that had ruined his life and half attempting to banish the dark storm cloud hanging over him, he doodled on the paper. His pencil scratched lightly, without purpose, over the blankness beneath his fingertips for a few moments and then slowly, something emerged from the complex pattern of lines. A glider akin to the one he had seen at his father's labs at Oscorp, and later under the fiend known as the Green Goblin's feet, stood out at him among the chaos of pencil marks. And at this, a slight smile graced his features.   
  
A glider? He had a feeling his father would be proud of the shred of irony he had stolen from a seemingly random doodle. After all, if he could get the sketch out of the paper and into reality... if he could don the mantle of the only person who had ever opposed Spiderman... it would be the perfect revenge. Something truly worthy for a father he had only begun to get to know before his death. For a moment he was content, happy to know he had used the 'old Osborn intellect' his father had always harped on him about learning to use... And then, suddenly, the curve of his lips vanished just as surely as he crumbled the piece of paper and tossed it into the nearest trashcan.   
  
It wasn't really the paper's fault... It was more his own, as another wave of guilt crashed onto the beaches of his mind. One that cried out that what Harry was planning on doing was wrong. Sure, it would be easy to put on a mask and make Spiderman's life as miserable has the wall-crawler had made his, but the young Osborn doubted that his father would have supported it. Norman Osborn had always been against costumed freaks, as he had called them. Besides, the original Green Goblin had been a murderer who had almost killed him, Mary-Jane Watson, and probably his father, wherever he had been that day. And the thought of becoming that by wearing a flight suit and riding around on a glider terrified him more than never getting vengeance for his father ever could.  
  
Sighing, he stared blankly at the bare spot he had created on his desk. Wonderful. How was he ever going to get any kind of closure? Though he didn't have time to think about it, because seconds later, an all too familiar voice called to him from the entrance to the loft apartment his father had bought him and his best friend, Peter Parker before his death.  
  
"Hey Harry."  
  
Looking up, the young Osborn spotted his roommate and forced a smile. "Peter."  
  
Harry's chestnut-haired companion moved purposefully to the apartment's small refrigerator and removed an apple. "How's your English paper coming?" Peter asked, biting into the apple.  
  
"Not too well," Harry admitted, holding his pencil by its ends between his index fingers.  
  
"Still having problems concentrating?"   
  
"...Yeah..." Frowning faintly, he pulled the term paper back in front of him and stared dismally at the two meager paragraphs he had come up with in the two hours he had spent working.  
  
"Maybe you should talk to someone, Harry," Peter began, moving over to his roommate's desk. "I mean, you're not the only one who's lost - " Harry gave him a pointed glare, and Peter corrected himself - "who's had someone stolen from him."  
  
There was a moment's silence and then the slightly older man sighed. "You're right, Pete. You're always right."  
  
"So you wanna talk about it?" he asked, pulling a chair up to sit opposite Harry. Setting the pencil down on the desk, Harry nodded and opened his mouth to say something. But before he could the phone, which was sitting several feet away from both boys, rang loudly. With a sigh, the young Osborn offered Peter a meaningful look before standing up and heading towards the phone they shared.   
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Harry Osborn?" the voice inquired.  
  
"Yes, this is him."  
  
"This is James Mendora, your father's lawyer."  
  
"Oh," Harry responded, his tone half curious and half nervous.  
  
"I'm calling to talk to you about your father's death. A couple of years ago, Norman came into my office and asked me to help him draw up a living will - just in case he passed away before he felt you were ready to inherit his assets." There was a slight pause, and Harry could hear papers being rustled on the other side of the phone, and then his father's lawyer continued. "Apparently he's left everything to you, Harry."  
  
"Everything?"  
  
"Yes. His wealth. The Osborn Estate. Even Oscorp Industries."  
  
"Oscorp?" he inquired, something close to bitterness creeping into his voice. "Oscorp is being bought out by Quest Aerodynamics."  
  
"Not anymore, kid. The head of Quest thinks it'd be bad for public relations if he bought a company that had just lost its CEO... and its entire board of trustees for that matter. It was brought up in court as to what should happen to Oscorp, and the judge decided that it should go to whoever Norman had left it to. Namely you... well, that's assuming you want the company."  
  
Harry was silent. Him? Head of Oscorp? It was a dream and a nightmare all at once. He had never been a bright boy - his father and the fact that he had been kicked out of private school after private school had reminded him of that frequently - but this was Oscorp. He was being offered a chance to keep the one thing his father loved almost as much as his family alive. So what did he do? Did he take the company and hope that keeping his father's dream alive was what he would have wanted? Or did he let someone else have Oscorp, effectively making sure that he wouldn't further disgrace his father's name?  
  
"What - what if I don't want to take over Oscorp?"  
  
The auburn-haired boy could almost hear his father's lawyer shrug. "Then Oscorp gets shut down. Look kid, why don't you take some time an think on it - I've got a week before I have to put anything down on paper."  
  
"Yeah..." he mumbled, his gaze flicking briefly over to Peter, searching for those calming blue depths his roommate had for eyes. Meeting them for a split second, Harry repeated in a voice that was more self-assured, "Yeah. I'll call you in a week... or when I've reached my decision."  
  
"Sounds good, kid. We'll be in touch."  
  
Click.  
  
Sighing faintly, Harry pushed the cordless phone off and set it down where he had found it. Then, slowly, his feet dragging every inch of the way, the auburn-haired youth moved back to his desk. For a moment, silence passed between the two as Harry trained his eyes on Peter's once again and then with another sigh, he plopped back down in the chair he had been sitting in.  
  
"Who was that?" Peter inquired gently, his tone one that told Harry he didn't have to answer if he wasn't feeling up to it.  
  
"My dad's lawyer."  
  
"What'd he want?"  
  
Harry stared blankly at the term paper beneath him. "He... he wants me to take over Oscorp."  
  
"I thought Quest was supposed to buy the company."  
  
"Nope," he responded, shaking his head. "The lawyer said it'd look bad for Quest if they bought a company who's CEO kicked the bucket... or something like that."  
  
A frown poisoned Peter's features. "So you gonna take the company?"  
  
"I dunno, you know? I mean if I do take it, I know I'd be doing what my dad would've wanted... but I'd have to have my schedule at school rearranged so I could go to meetings and stuff. And then we wouldn't have classes together and I wouldn't have time to do anything but run the company and go to school and study. But if I refuse to take over Oscorp, then the lawyer said they were gonna shut it down." Harry offered a short, bitter laugh. "And dad'd roll over in his grave if that happened - the company was his life. You know?"  
  
The vaguely younger boy nodded sympathetically.  
  
"I... I don't know what to do, Peter."  
  
Peter sighed inwardly, uncomfortable with the entire situation, but unwilling to leave his friend's side. What a mess. What was he supposed to tell Harry? The brunette smiled faintly at the older boy, offering all his support and comfort. "Harry, you've got to do what you think is right. You've got to do what you've got to do."  
  
How horrible did that sound? Very horrible, the boy thought, shifting positions so he was staring squarely at Harry. "I'm sure your dad was proud of you, so no matter what you choose, you shouldn't worry about him being upset. Sure, the company was his life, but so were you."  
  
Silence filled the apartment for several seconds as Harry considered his friend's words - Peter was right, as always. He needed to do what he thought was right, regardless of what he thought his father would have wanted from him. If he his heart told him to take Oscorp, then he took the company... but if not, no one would think any less of him. Not Peter. Not his father. No one. So what was his heart telling him?  
  
* Take the company. Make your father proud. *  
  
"I've gotta do it. ...You'll still be there for me, won't you Pete?"  
  
"Of course Harry. I'm not someone you've got to worry about." Not that he really has to worry about anyone leaving him, Peter added mentally. There was no way the blue-eyed genius would ever desert his friend, not after everything they'd been through. Even with Harry's intense grudge toward, well himself, Peter had still stuck with him, and he always would. Besides, it wasn't like he had other companions to flock to...  
  
"I wonder what it'll be like for you? What are you going to do?"  
  
"Well, dad was more or less a figurehead for the company... I mean, the board of trustees had been running things for about a year before he died. Though dad liked it that way - he said it gave him more time to be a scientist," Harry admitted. "I don't think I'm gonna get away without being around a lot, you know? I'm gonna need to find some trustworthy people for the board and," the auburn-haired Osborn paused, offering a frown, "I think I'm going to have to take some business classes at school or get someone who knows what they're doing to help me out.   
  
"Dad would've taught me... but..." A pained look found its way to Harry's face as he trailed off. Then, his voice low, he continued with, "Spiderman's gonna get it eventually too. I'll make sure of that."  
  
Peter cringed slightly, Harry's words cutting through him with ease. It was as if the older boy wielded an invisible knife, and the more that Peter thought about what his friend had said, the more he dreaded ever becoming Spiderman. Then his best friend might not hate him as adamantly as he did now.  
  
"I'm sure everything will work out Harry." It was all he could say really. He dared not stir anymore talk of his alter ego. In fact, this was why he avoided bringing up Spiderman at all. But the look in his friend's eyes was too much, and Peter couldn't help but divert his gaze to the paper that lay on his friend's desk. "But your grade isn't going to be okay if you don't finish that paper."  
  
An exaggerated groan passed Harry's parted lips. "Maybe if Shakespeare would cooperate with me..." he answered, trying not to crack a smile as the his vendetta against Peter's alter ego faded from his thoughts for the moment. The younger man was right, and it wasn't funny that he had the potential to fail if he didn't finish the paper... but for some reason, he always found medieval playwrights comical. And that was never good if you had been assigned a paper on them.   
  
"And maybe if certain young science majors wouldn't bother me..."  
  
"So I'm a bother now?" Peter asked, chuckling all the while. It was refreshing to laugh with Harry again, like they had done so long ago. He remembered it well, those days when it seemed nothing could bring them down from their high perch. He remembered it all, and this just made him laugh more. But his friend was right, he needed to stop being a distraction.  
  
"Alright, alright. I'm going to go study for my Atomic Physics class, but just call if you need any help."  
  
"Don't worry. I won't hesitate to." 


	2. Office Troubles

Author's Note: Despite what it looks like for the better part of this chapter, there will be no evil Harry in this fic. Sorry to disappoint anyone who was hoping for that... But hey - Katrina and I are sure to please all the Norman Osborn fans out there with this chapter. ::evil grin:: And how about a big round of applause for our random bad guys, K and Dave? Anyway, read and for Godssakes review (thanks to those of you who already have). We hardly got any reviews for the last chapter... ;-;   
  
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"Ready K?"  
  
A small red-headed boy who couldn't have been more than seventeen years old grinned from ear to ear. "Ya know, ya ask me that every time," the teenager known as K answered. "It's always 'Ready K?' or 'Ready to make an easy thou' K?' And what'd I tell you ever time?"  
  
The taller - and apparently older - of the pair rolled his eyes. "Ya tell me that ya were born ready. And lemme remind ya, this is no joke. If ya want the cash fer the diamonds without gettin' caught, ya gotta take this seriously. Ya think you'dve learned that after a month o' this." Shaking his head, the older boy's filthy brown tresses beat wildly around his face as he realized that the youth would never learn. No matter how long the two of them robbed pawn shops for the expensive, yet easy to carry items. "Yer a joke, K."  
  
Glancing up at the neon sign that proclaimed the building they stood in front of their target, K gave his companion a sour glance. "And yer too serious, Dave."  
  
"Whatever... c'mmon..."   
  
Wrapping a meaty hand around K's arm, the taller man pulled his companion into the store. For a moment, neither man did anything, and then slowly, Dave pulled a gun out of the worn vest-like jacket he wore. "Kindly put any rocks ya got in the bag," he demanded, pushing a thick canvas bag under the shop owner's nose. K, in the meantime, watched their exit.  
  
"So... these are the clowns that have been knocking over pawn shops. Why didn't I catch them before?" Peter, dressed in his alter-ego's costume, muttered, adjusting the angle of his camera as he secured it's position in the arch of a street lamp. These shots would definitely get him some cash, something he needed desperately at the moment.  
  
"I'm a college student with a job and a disgruntled boss who's also very cheap, not to mention I'm a super hero with the powers of a spider. What do they expect me to do, spin gold?" He sighed, swinging himself upside down to stare into the store. There were many ways to approach this situation and many different outcomes. For one, that thief had a gun, and the last thing he needed was for him to start firing it like crazy. "Well," he said to himself, "there's always the surprise tactic." Quickly setting the timer on his camera, Spiderman gracefully leapt from his perch on the light to the side of the pawn shop. He stared down at the door, waiting, ready for the two goons to rush out of the shop.  
  
"Three... two... one..." In an instant, the flash on his camera went off several times. "Come on guys. Get scared and rush out." He remembered using the tactic once before, and hey, why let good things go to waste.  
  
The flash from the camera caught K off guard, making him practically leap five feet in the air. Shooting an uneasy glance first to his companion and then outside, searching for the source of the flash, he frowned. "Hey man... we gotta fly. There's somethin' out there. Cops maybe."  
  
Pushing the muzzle of his gun into the shopkeeper's chest, the taller male snatched the half-full bag and glanced at the red-head. For a moment, he just stared like a deer caught in headlights at the mention of the word cops, and then Dave ran towards the door. K followed on his companion's heels and neither noticed the wall-crawling super hero clinging to the side of the building.  
  
Peter, however, did notice them and didn't hesitate to fling his hand down, webbing flying from his wrist with a natural speed. In only a few minutes, Spiderman had wrapped his fingers around the gun Dave had been holding and had flipped forward kicking K in the stomach and grabbing Dave by the collar of his vest. "And where do you think you're going?" He asked in a light-hearted tone, paying no mind to the flashes that were still emitting from his camera. He shot the tied the two together with his webbing, two flies caught in his web of justice, and strung them around the lamp post.  
  
"End of the line guys." Picking up the bag, the wall crawler tossed it back into the store and leapt up to retrieve his camera. With sirens flooding the air, he bid adieu to K and Dave and was off, leaping tall buildings in a single bound.  
  
*  
  
"....And in other news, two small time pawn shop thieves were apprehended today due to the work of New York's resident guardian angel, Spiderman. The perpetrators - Katon Jones and David Long - "  
  
The television reporter's voice died suddenly as Harry Osborn flicked his television off and set the remote down beside him on the desk. Letting out a heavy sigh, the auburn-haired youth rubbed at the tender flesh underneath a head of hair that had been tinted faintly gray in spots with worry. He had only been head of Oscorp for a little more than a month and it was killing him. But that didn't matter... what did, however, was the fact that things had been running almost as well as they had under his father. Harry had replaced his father's board of trustees with a new set of businessmen and had hired an aide - a young man whose parents owned an aspiring company that was a subsidiary of Oscorp. Profits and stocks were up once again and Quest had yet to become a threat to his company's power. Despite the fact that the company was draining him of what precious youth he had left, his father would have been proud.  
  
And yet, somehow, Harry wasn't. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he still hadn't come up with a way to avenge his father's death. ...No, that wasn't quite the truth. He had found a way, but it involved one turbo-fan powered glider and a flight suit, and the young Osborn wasn't about it resort to that. Even though the plans were flawless. Even though it would be so easy. He wasn't going to become a monster for the sake of his father's memory. It was wrong. But it hadn't kept him from drawing up blueprints for an improved glider and flightsuit on more than one occasion.  
  
Sliding out of his chair, Harry decided that a walk would do him good. His father had always taken walks when things had bothered him, and whenever Norman had come back, everything had always been all right. And it was the same case for Harry. Only instead of simply roaming the busy halls of Oscorp's inner sanctum, the young businessman was more fond of going to his father's old office. Harry had taken great care to keep the office the same since his father's death, refusing to let anyone go in it or clean it out. In fact, he made sure that he was the only person to have a key... That, however, hadn't been too hard, considering his father only ever had two keys to the office - one for himself and one for his son - and the one Norman had carried had disappeared.   
  
So his father's old office had become a tribute to his fallen elder. A place where Harry went to ask for guidance from his father's spirit whenever he was feeling low. And right now, he needed some insight on the best way to have his vengeance.   
  
Pushing the small golden key into the office's keyhole, Harry twisted it sharply and pushed the door open. Then stepping inside, he turned, closing the door as quickly as he had opened it. For a moment he stood still, staring at the smoked glass that still read 'Norman Osborn' as he took in a lungful of the office's air.   
  
* God, it still smells like dad in here, * Harry thought wistfully, spinning slowly on his heels to look into the room. A cherry desk sat in the middle of the room, covered with papers that were saturated with dust from weeks of being untouched. A picture of Harry and his father also sat atop the desk - only this had been set aside from the clutter - and a rich, leather chair sat opposite the desk, back facing the young Osborn. Just as his father had left it.   
  
* Wait... the back of the chair facing me? That's not right. *  
  
A chill ran down the youth's spine. Someone had to be in the room... or maybe they had been there earlier. But it still raised the question of how they had gotten in when he was the only person who was supposed to have a key... and if they were still there... Taking a deep breath, Harry attempted to look over the chair's high back but he had no such luck. * Great, * he sighed inwardly, * just great. *  
  
"Who's there?" he managed finally, his throat threatening to close up on him. Slowly the chair turned, and what Harry found there was worse - and somehow better - then anything he could've imagined.   
  
Sitting in the chair was Norman Osborn, his crystal blue eyes trained on his son, an almost confused expression in them.  
  
"Harry?"   
  
"Oh my God..." 


	3. A Friend in Need

Author's Note: Thank you everyone who has reviewed thus far. ^_^ Anyway, here's the third chapter, yes, I realize it's a little slow... but the the next chapter is so worth this one. Especially if you're a Norman fan. Anyway, read and keep reviewing! I like reviews. Katrina likes reviews. They make us feel special and let us know we're not writing for our health. x.x  
  
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"Three hundred dollars each for those great pictures," Peter sighed, closing the door to the apartment quickly. "What a jip." He often spoke with himself, especially in the past month, since Harry hadn't been as available now, what with a company to run and all. "Maybe I should just go on strike." He cracked open a Mountain Dew and took a large gulp of the caffeine drink, swallowing slowly. God did he love Mountain Dew, not to mention the caffeine.   
  
"Yeah, that's it. What would Jameson do if I didn't keep bringing him pictures of myself? Maybe he'd give me a raise." He shook his head, laughing almost bitterly at the statement. The day his boss ever gave anyone a raise was the day he unmasked himself as Spiderman. "That'll never happen."  
  
But before the chestnut-haired youth could consider his strike idea further, the phone was suddenly ringing urgently from its place in the loft apartment's small kitchen.  
  
The boy nearly choked on his drink when the phone rang, surprising him more than he had ever been before. For a few moments, he wondered if Jameson might be psychic and was calling to assure him that he was fired and would not be missed. But, as he picked up the phone, something in the back of his mind told him this was not so. Something told him this was more serious, and, at the same time, much more important. It was as if his Spider sense was on the verge of going off... and it felt odd, something Peter did not like in the least.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
For several seconds there was nothing but deafening silence and then finally, the person on the other side of the receiver spoke, voice shaking. "Peter? It's Harry."  
  
"Oh," He let out a sigh of relief, a smile appearing on his face even though he knew his friend could not possibly see it. "Hey Harry. What's up? You still at work?"   
  
"Yeah," Harry answered. "Look, Peter, could you possibly come down here?"  
  
"What?" Okay, so it wasn't that he hadn't heard Harry, it was more that Peter didn't believe what he was hearing. He'd never, since he'd known Harry or his father, been invited to Oscorp, and frankly, he was taken aback by his friend's request. "Oh, uh, yeah sure. I'll be there as soon as I can." The youth paused, before continuing, "Is everything okay?"  
  
* I hope so. *  
  
"Yeah. But I need a hand with something, and I think you're a bit better qualified than I am... Just hurry, ok?"  
  
"Alright, no problem. I'll be right there." With that, the young genius hung the phone up, grabbing his coat and heading straight out the door.  
  
*  
  
It had been twenty minutes since he last spoke to Harry on the phone. The urgency in the elder boy's voice had made Peter take... the express route, so to speak, and he had reached Oscorp within ten minutes. But in his haste to see his friend, he'd forgotten that he had never been in this building before, and, as a result, had become utterly lost.   
  
Meandering down a few halls, he heard tidbits of different conversations. Something about Harry and how he'd refused to have his father's office cleaned out. That was understandable, at least, to Peter anyway. Another tidbit, and he had discovered that his father's office was on the top floor. He was making progress. If his father's office was on the top, the Harry's had to be nearby.  
  
"That seems only logical. I'm such an idiot at times." Peter stated, stepping into the elevator and hitting the top button. With a ping, he stepped off, glancing around the seemingly deserted halls for any sign of his roommate and friend.  
  
"Peter!" Harry's voice rang out through the corridor. Standing in front of the office's doors was the slightly aged-looking Osborn boy, his brow furrowed in worry.  
  
"Harry!" Peter responded, immediately rushing over to his friend's side. "Sorry I wasn't here sooner," He gave his friend a weak smile. "I got kind of lost." Pushing a hand through his silken hair, the blue-eyed youth glanced around for a second, the eerieness of the hall setting him a little on edge.  
  
"What's going on? What's the emergency?"  
  
"I..." the other man started, emotion catching his voice in his throat, making it hard to continue. Pausing for a moment, he took a deep breath before trying once again. "I can't explain it. Just... come with me in there?" Pointing to the closed door that lead to his father's old office, Harry pushed it open and shot a pleading glance over his shoulder. Then, slowly, the young Osborn entered the room, praying that his friend would follow.  
  
Peter shot his friend a questioning glance, following him slowly. The name on the door made him apprehensive and, for a moment, Peter considered making up an excuse and running. But he couldn't do that, not to Harry. Shutting the door behind him, Peter glanced around the room slowly, and, seeing no glider or flightsuit, he let out a sigh of relief.  
  
"Harry..." He didn't know what to say really, so instead, he let the beginning of his sentence fade away and waited for his roommate to begin speaking once more.  
  
Though before the auburn-haired youth could utter a word, the chair on the other side of his father's desk turned as it had when Harry had entered the first time, revealing Norman Osborn once again. In valuable seconds worth of silence, the former head of Oscorp stared at Harry with cool, questioning eyes, as though he didn't remember his own son. And then, slowly, the same confused stare moved to focus on Peter.  
  
"Parker?" Osborn asked, his voice hoarse. "Peter Parker?"  
  
His voice caught in his throat, a gasp the only thing able to escape from Peter Parker. His blue eyes locked tightly on the man before him. A man he had previously thought dead. A man that had tried to kill him. What was this? Was he a ghost? That was completely illogical, he knew that, but... how did one explain this.   
  
"Mr..." He couldn't get the words to come out. All Peter Parker was able to do was stare at the ghost of the man that sat before him. This was crazy. Was he dreaming? But slowly, he nodded his head, eyes still wide in surprise and confusion.  
  
"Mr. Osborn?"  
  
"Peter, oh Peter," the older man repeated softly, his lost expression fading into one of relief.   
  
Content that his roommate had seen enough and in need of a moment or two of private conversation with Peter, Harry linked his arm with Peter's and eased the younger boy gently towards the door. "C'mmon Peter - we need to talk."  
  
And suddenly the same terrified, child-like eyes Norman had used on the chestnut-tressed boy's alter ego to beg for his life were focused on Harry's back. "No Harry," he whispered, the apprehension that had been banished only seconds before creeping slowly back onto Norman's face. "Don't leave me here. Please...?"  
  
The young Osborn paused, shooting a glance back at his father. "We'll be right back dad," Harry said softly, he tone one of forced reassurance that was the exact opposite of the look of worry on the young man's face. Then, silently, he was easing Peter towards the door again. And only once they stood outside the small office, with the door closed tightly behind them, did he dare to speak.  
  
"It's a miracle Peter. It's a miracle. He's alive. It's really him. Did you see his suit? It's covered in dirt. He must have been alive when they buried him. And here he is now. He doesn't remember anything... but he's alive." Taking a deep breath, Harry fought back tears and the rather confusing string of words that threatened to over take him. Then, once he had regained his composure, he began trying to explain what had happened in a slower, saner manner.  
  
"I found him in there this morning. He barely seems to be aware of what's going on around him... I mean, you saw the way he looked at us. And he didn't know how he got back to Oscorp either... It's as if something's wrong with his memory." Harry frowned, but his eyes remained hopeful. "There's gotta be a way to help him... There's gotta be a way to get my dad back to the way he was before Spiderman took him."  
  
Without realizing it, the older man fell back into his frantic rant. "I don't want anyone to see him like this, though... So I can't take him to a shrink or a doctor. You've gotta help him Peter, I... I don't trust anyone else."  
  
"But how?" The look in his friend's eyes struck a chord in Peter. He wanted to help, he really did, even if this was his former arch-nemesis. But Peter was no fool, far from it actually. He was not a psychology major and he had trouble socializing with people as it was. How was he supposed to get Norman Osborn out of this state? Moreover, if he could figure out a way to do that, how could he make sure that he didn't awaken the Green Goblin once more? It was confusing, and the younger boy couldn't help but look away from Harry's eyes, disappointed with the fact that he couldn't think of anyway to help him. He wanted to help, he really did, but...  
  
"I don't know what I can do..."   
  
"Just try. Please Peter?" he responded, his eyes once more threatening to overflow with tears. "...I want my dad back..."   
  
Peter couldn't answer at first, searching Harry's eyes for something, anything. Finally, after a few minutes of contemplating the situation, Peter nodded hesitantly. Maybe there -was- a way for him to help Harry and Norman at the same time. Maybe...  
  
"Sure Harry. I'll try, I promise you that."  
  
A sigh of relief passed over the other boy's lips, the apprehension in his eyes fading only to be replaced by a glimmer of hope. "Thanks, Pete. I appreciate it."  
  
Peter nodded in response, eyes travelling back to the door, which held his former enemy's name. He was crazy. Why was he doing this? One look into Harry's eyes answered his question and brunette smiled slightly. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe he was going to be able to help the Osborn family after all.  
  
"You're going to be there to help right?"  
  
"Are you kidding me?" he asked, a wry smile touching his features. "This is a miracle. My dad's back... and there's no way I'm gonna push him aside for anything. I'll be there."  
  
"Good. As long as I don't have to do this on my own, I think we will succeed." He placed a reassuring hand on the older boy's shoulder. "I'm happy for you Harry. Really, I am."  
  
"Thanks," Harry repeated, shooting a glance at his father's office. "We'd better get back in there before he freaks out... You ready?"  
  
Peter hesitated for a moment, eyes flying from Harry to the door. This was it. Taking a deep breath, he nodded, his mind screaming at him the whole time. His heart, however, forced him to ignore his mind, as it so often does, and Peter moved next to Harry, deciding it would probably be better if Norman Osborn saw his son enter the room first. "After you, my friend."  
  
Harry simply nodded, pushing the door to the small office open once again. For a moment, the young Osborn hesitated, as though he expected his father to yell at him for not knocking as had often been the case when he had been younger. And then, realizing that no scolding would come, that his father barely remembered his name, let alone the fact that he liked to have people knock before they entered, he moved inside.  
  
"We're here, dad. Peter and I are here..." 


	4. Breaking the Barrier

Author's Note: ::succumbs to Artoni's jedi-mind powers and posts another chapter of the fic:: Heh... Well, I'm running out of things to write in these notes... so I'll just say read and review. Please review. This is my favorite chapter we've done so far, and I'll cry a lot if you don't. ;-;  
  
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"Yeah, that's right Mr. Osborn." Peter smiled at his elder, nodding his head as if to affirm what Norman Osborn had said. It had been two days since Harry had first brought him to this office. And, in those two days, Peter had been making slow progress with the former CEO of Oscorp. Harry was at work, as Peter had expected, and now he was alone with his former nemesis, something that made him more than a little uncomfortable.   
  
"So... do you remember when you found out about the deaths of the board members?"  
  
The elder man furrowed his brow as he considered the question. Truth be told, he remembered very little. Sure, he remembered who the president was and what year it was but the little, more personal things - like the names of the former board members of Oscorp or what year he had gotten married in - were evading him. It was as though he was trying to grab a fistful of water and hold on to it. And it was annoying him to no end.  
  
"I... I remember there being something in the paper..." he managed finally, after several moments of contemplation. "The... Daily Bugle...? Is that right?"  
  
"Yes! Yes, that's absolutely right!" Peter sighed softly, eyes drifting around the room for a moment. What else could he do to spur the man's memory without bringing up the Green Goblin? A frown found it's way to his face for a moment. He had been purposely avoiding that topic, but it was proving to be more difficult to help Norman Osborn remember anything. But still, Peter kept to his tactic.  
  
"Do you remember what the paper said?"  
  
"No," Norman responded, shaking his head in frustration.  
  
Peter held his breath. * Now what, * his mind questioned in a sarcastic voice. That was a good question, he had to admit to himself. What -did- he do now? Pushing him forward could result in two things, one of which was very bad. There was no way he wanted to stir any of the memories of that 'Green Meanie', as he remembered someone in the office saying. However, the death of the board members was a major part of Norman Osborn's life.  
  
"They were murdered." It was a simple statement, one which Peter hoped would explain enough for the frustrated man in front of him to accept.  
  
"Murdered?"   
  
Jesus. His entire board had died - killed in cold blood - and he couldn't even remember it? His breath caught in his throat at the thought. Was that what had happened to him too? Had someone tried to kill him? Had they almost succeeded? Is that why Harry had told him they had found him covered in dirt two days earlier? And was whoever had murdered his board still out there? Would they come for him again, now that he couldn't remember enough about his own personal life to identify them if they did?  
  
Molten fear poured down into his stomach like hot lead. And as he realized that he had been holding his breath, the older of the two let it out in a single rush of hot air, as though he had been punched in the chest. Allowing the searing sensation settle and cool in the pit of his lower abdomen, he asked quietly, "Did they find out who did it?"   
  
Peter shook his head slowly. "No... the murdering stopped and whoever it was got away. The police had no idea who it was." But he did. "You shouldn't worry about it though, Mr. Osborn. The murderer never made an attempt on your life." And Peter knew exactly why. The only reason he was even in this room was to help Harry. Under any other circumstances, the super hero was certain he would have captured and turned the villain in by now.  
  
"So how about it? Is any of this coming back to you?"  
  
Somewhat relieved by Peter's news that whoever had murdered his board had never come for him, he furrowed his brow, attempting to grasp at the broken shards of his past. And for the first time since he and the younger man had started the long walk back to remembering his life, something came to Osborn without being prompted.   
  
"Oscorp was supposed to be sold, wasn't it?"  
  
"Umm... yes sir." Norman's nearly prompt answer had surprised him, to say the least. They were making a considerable amount of progress today, something that pleased Peter greatly. The chocolate-haired youth leaned forward slightly, eyes focused solely on his elder and previous idol. Yes, it was true, though those days seemed long ago. When Peter had first met Norman Osborn, he had held the utmost respect for the man and his works. His papers were insightful and his research was so advanced even the blue-eyed genius had trouble understanding it at times. But then Norman had started to change. He became distant and cold. The Thanksgiving catastrophe had been the final blow to their falling out, and, when Peter, or rather, Spiderman, had discovered that Osborn was his Emerald Nemesis all along, all his respect for his elder was lost, an undying resent replacing it. He'd always been against hating, anyone or anything, a belief that had been taught to him at an early age by his Aunt and Uncle. But that didn't change the fact that Osborn had tried to take everything dear to him away. On more than one occasion, Peter had sworn he hated the Green Goblin and everything he was. And the fact that there were times, at night, Peter still had nightmares with his maniacal laughter running rampant throughout it didn't help any.  
  
"Do you remember why they were going to sell it?" A frown replaced his smile as he continued to ask questions, ocean-blue eyes narrowing slightly.  
  
"No... But it was supposed to go to... to Quest Aerodynamics..." His statement was more a question than an answer.   
  
"That's right." Peter watched him suspiciously, a little unsure why it was that Osborn was recalling all these little details so quickly. Only a two days ago, he was having trouble remembering Oscorp itself. Had his one statement really spurred on a rush of memories? The wall crawler wasn't really sure about that.  
  
"They were recapitalizing quickly, and the board had accepted an offer from Quest to buy the company. Shortly there after, at the Unity festival, they were killed." He'd hoped that was all correct. He couldn't really remember what Harry had told him about the situation and the details he had received were vague at best. He'd had to piece the story together on his own.   
  
Norman nodded silently, trying to place the pieces Peter had helped him with into the jig-saw puzzle his mind had become. Leaning back in his desk chair, he sighed inwardly. Ok, so he had been CEO of Oscorp, somehow Quest had found a way to recapitalize and it had forced his company to sell. He had agreed - or maybe argued against it, he couldn't remember - and Oscorp went to Quest. But it didn't last long, because his board had been slaughtered. The older Osborn frowned. For the most part it made sense, but there were still things missing. Like if his company had gone to Quest, why was Harry in charge of it now? And what had caused Quest to be able to recapitalize? It had to have been something drastic, that was for sure, but what it was still evaded him. In essence, there was a picture starting to form in the jumble of half remembered memories, but nothing clear. Not yet anyway.  
  
With another sigh, this one out loud, Osborn opened his mouth to ask a question about Quest only to be stopped by a flicker of recognition on the edges of his mind. His expression turning thoughtful, he attempted to chase whatever shard of his memory had tried to surface and for a moment he caught it. An echo of a voice, feral and long lost to him filled his mind.   
  
* Did you think it was coincidence? So many good things all happening for you... all for you, Norman... *  
  
A chill ran down his spine. What the hell was that?  
  
"Something wrong?" Peter was no fool. True, he wasn't the most social person you could meet on a daily basis, but he observed people like the best of them. Osborn's sigh had been brushed aside as nothing more than a release of stress and frustration. His expression and the look in his eyes, however, did not go unnoticed by Peter. His whole body stiffened as he waited for a response, trying desperately to search Osborn's eyes with his own.  
  
"No..." he responded, half to the voice that had bubbled up inside of him and half to his companion. His own limbs tensing, Norman was silent for a moment, praying the voice would not return. And after several seconds of mental silence, his winter-gray eyes met Peter's. "No, he repeated, with more certainty this time. "I'm fine. Just trying to piece things together.  
  
"...Would you mind if we quit for today, Peter?"   
  
Exhaling softly, Peter shook his head, body loosening slightly as he sat back in his chair. "No, of course not Mr. Osborn." For that moment, as he had sat with batted breath, he'd felt a shiver run up his spine. He'd been frightened, more so than his outward appearance had let on, and had almost believed he'd seen that crazed look in Norman's eyes that had been there not too long ago.  
  
"Do you want me to call Harry?"  
  
"Only if you can convince him to let me go home," Osborn responded, allowing himself to relax as he saw Peter do.   
  
Since his son had found him in his former office two days ago, Harry had forced him to stay put and keep the door closed, only letting it open to let Peter in or to bring his father food. For the first morning, Norman had been fine with it, terrified of seeing anyone but the two college-aged boys. After that, however, it had gotten old quickly. And the older man had been trying to convince his son to let him get reacquainted with the outside world since dinner the previous night. He had been having little luck, though - Harry seemed adamant about keeping his father under lock and key.  
  
"That could prove difficult." Peter responded, chuckling softly at Osborn's statement. Harry was stubborn, that Peter knew well. In fact, Peter would venture to say he was as, if not more, stubborn than his father.   
  
"I could try though." He stood, reaching into his pocket for the cell phone his roommate had provided him with. It was hard not to envy Harry at times. Dialing the number he now had memorized, Peter turned his back to the elder man, waiting for the other Osborn to answer. Why he was doing this, he didn't know. In all honesty, it was probably a good idea to keep Norman locked up. It would prevent anything from triggering memories regarding the villain that had taken hold of the man's will, his very soul.  
  
Two rings later, Harry had answered his cell phone. "Hello?" he asked, the sounds of a busy office in the background making it hard to him.  
  
"Harry, it's me, Peter." The brunette glanced at Osborn quickly, sighing lightly into the phone. "We're done here, so how about we all go to home for some nice take-out?"  
  
The younger Osborn frowned, despite the fact that he knew his friend wouldn't see his sour expression. Peter knew that he didn't want to take his father out in public, for fear of someone seeing the older man and wondering how he was walking the streets when he was supposed to be dead. It had the potential to raise unwanted questions if the wrong person - such as the man his best friend called boss - saw his father. And unwanted questions always lead to the involvement of the police, which is something Harry didn't want. Especially considering they would probably ship his father off to somewhere far away if the police were involved.  
  
"I could pick something up and bring it up there," he suggested instead.   
  
Peter cursed mentally. He should have known better than to believe Harry would agree so easily. He didn't answer for a moment, contemplating a way to try and get the other boy to agree with him.   
  
"Gee Harry, you sound kind of busy..." A grin started to spread across Peter's face, a plan taking form in the back of his mind as he listened to the noise from the office. "Things a little busy down there?"  
  
"Yeah. Something big just happened - there's an emergency board meeting in fifteen minutes," he muttered, pausing for a moment to let the noise of the office filter from his side of the line into Peter's ear. Then quickly he added, "But I've still got time to go pick up dinner if you and dad're hungry. Chinese maybe?"  
  
"I dunno Harry... an emergency board meeting. Should you really be out running around when you've got that in only a few minutes?" Peter frowned, trying desperately to keep his voice persuasive. "Why don't you just let me run to get some food and I'll be back in no time. Then you don't have to worry about anything but your meeting and your dad and I can get some fresh air. We'll be back in no time and I promise no one will see him."  
  
Harry sighed loudly into the phone. "Alright Pete," the younger Osborn answered finally, a silent 'but if anyone -does- see him, I'll never forgive you,' passing through the pause between the two boys that followed.   
  
Peter's grin widened and he turned around, flashing a thumbs up to Norman and mouthing 'We're clear' before remembering he was still on the phone. "Thanks Harry. You know, you're the reason parents love their kids so much. Really you are."  
  
"Uh-huh," Harry answered glumly, running a hand through his rusty tresses. This seemed like a bad idea to him, despite Peter's reassurance, but he had given already given in and he didn't have time to start arguing the point again. Like so many times in his life, he had to trust his best friend's word... and while that was usually easy, today it simply wasn't.   
  
Offering another sigh, he said, "Look Pete, I've gotta go. Talk to you later, ok?"   
  
"Oh yeah! Sorry about that. Well I'll talk to you later then. See you, Harry." Hanging up quickly, smile still on his face, Peter turned to Osborn. "Well, I've done the impossible. Harry said we could go out to get some Chinese, but I've got to make sure no one sees you, sir." He tapped his index finger to his chin steadily, very proud with himself.   
  
"Guess we'll have to disguise you, sir."  
  
The thought of having to be disguised to walk around in public didn't appeal to Osborn in the least, but at least it was better than being cooped up in his office for another night. And so, arching his eyebrows, he stood up slowly and glanced around the room for something suitable to use as a disguise. "Any ideas?"  
  
Where was a sheet when you needed one? Smirking lightly at the thought, Peter took off his jacket, handing it to Norman before taking one last look around the room. "Well... you can use my jacket. And... hold on just a second, Mr. Osborn." Making his way to the door, the hero slipped out quickly and made his way down the empty halls. The only people that ever came to this floor were himself, Harry and an occasional custodial worker who swept the floor. This was exactly who Peter was looking for.  
  
"Come on Steve... where are you?" He muttered to himself, rounding a corner. Spotting the janitor's cart, Peter sped up his pace, only to find the man asleep in a chair. The aspiring journalist watched Steve nervously for a few minutes before slowly taking his hat. With the item firmly in his grasp, Peter made a mad dash for Norman's office, leaning on the back of the door after he'd entered. "Got you a hat too."   
  
"Thanks, Peter," the elder man replied pleasantly, already wearing Peter's jacket. Reaching for the hat, he threw it over his auburn-locks, pushing as much of his hair as he could under the dirty cap in an attempt to look even less like himself. Then, zipping up the jacket and stuffing his hands into his pockets, he glanced at Peter feeling considerably self-conscious of his appearance.   
  
"So? What do you think?"  
  
"Mr. Osborn, you look like me." Peter stated, genuine smile appearing on his face. "Not that that's a bad thing." He moved toward the door, hand outstretched for the knob, ready to turn it. "Let's go get some food."  
  
Smiling for the first time since he had come back from the grave, Osborn motioned towards the door. "After you." 


	5. Living Nightmare

Author's Note: Woo! Another chapter! Brownie points if you can point out the irony in what Norman's eating... ::gets all excited:: Anyway, this chapter goes out to all the people from the lj community at Vital Signs - http://www.geocities.com/green00goblin/ - and all the people who've already reviewed this fic. Read, enjoy, and keep reviewing. Oh yeah - and stayed tuned... the next chapter's gonna be a killer.  
  
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Chopsticks in hand, Peter dug into his lo mein greedily, still smiling at the elder who now sat across from him. Despite his apprehensive attitude, the trip to the Chinese restaurant and home had been quick and painless, something that was new to Peter, who was used to doing things the long and complicated way.  
  
"Hmm," He muttered between slurps, stealing a glance at the door to the kitchen. "I wonder when Harry's going to get here. His food's getting cold."  
  
"I'm sure he'll be here soon," Osborn replied, pawing thoughtfully at his own sweet and sour chicken with the tips of the chopsticks. At one time in his life, he knew what it was like to come home to dinners that were either stone cold or tasteless, having sat in a warm oven all night. With a sigh, he lifted a piece of the chicken into his mouth and glanced towards the door and if on cue, it opened, revealing a tired-looking Harry to the both of them.  
  
"Hey Peter... dad..." he said, setting the leather briefcase he had been carrying down next to the kitchen's door.  
  
"Hey Harry. Got your food right here." The look on his friend's face made Peter feel almost as exhausted as Harry must have been. Seeing his sleep-deprived friend made the youth sad and offered his roommate a weak smile. "Come and get it."  
  
"What did you get me?" the auburn-haired youth asked as he moved to sit down, returning Peter's smile with a tired one of his own.  
  
Moving a little closer to Peter, so that Harry could pull his own chair into the small semi-circle the two men had created, the elder Osborn motioned towards the countertop. "Szechuan beef. And I think there's a little soup left, too."  
  
"Thanks," Harry responded, ignoring the container of soup he had been offered and instead reaching for his meal. Popping the top of the immaculate white carton open, he dug into the spicy beef meal eagerly, as if he hadn't eaten all day. And, Osborn mused, he probably hadn't.  
  
Swallowing a mouthful of his meal, he turned to Peter, a frown forming on his face. "No one saw him, did they?"  
  
Under normal circumstances, the idea of teasing Harry would not have crossed his mind. But, Peter reminded himself, these were far from normal times.   
  
"Actually... one man did see him." Peter kept his eyes on his lomein, suppressing the urge to laugh out loud. "The man who gave us our food asked if he was Norman Osborn." So it was a cruel joke. Deep down, Peter really didn't think Harry would fall for it, so, he saw no harm in it. Besides, his friend needed to lighten up anyway.  
  
Had Harry chanced a glance at his father, he would have seen the elder man wearing a wry grin on his face, but the older boy was far too intent on staring at Peter in shock and disbelief. "What did you tell him?" he demanded, fear touching his spine with its icy fingers.   
  
Apparently Harry had fallen for his friend's ruse - hook, line, and sinker.  
  
Peter blinked at the noodles before him, unsure of how to answer. Keep up with the charade or let it drop, that was the question. He was refusing to make eye contact with Harry, so his skills of observation were quite useless. Was his friend going along with it or was he serious? He stole a glance at the younger Osborn and immediately regretted what he had previously said.   
  
"I said nothing because it didn't happen." He swallowed more of his lomein, forcing the lump in his throat to retreat. "It was a just a joke Harry. Nothing to worry about."  
  
"You're evil," Harry responded flatly. Popping another piece of beef into his mouth he reminded himself that Peter had just been trying to lighten his mood, not to hurt him in any way. And with that in mind, he offered his friend a small smile to show that everything had been forgiven.  
  
Peter returned the smile fully, eyes shining with laughter. Now that he had found out how fun it was to tease Harry, he would remind himself to try it more often. It wasn't every day you got the once over on the youngest CEO in New York. "Am I really? I always imagined myself as a defender of the innocent and protector of peace. In my mind, I'm a super hero." The words slipped out before he could stop them and he glanced at Osborn quickly, worry etching across his face. That was stupid. Very stupid. In light of Harry's company, and, with Osborn being so silent, Peter had gone back to his lax attitude. He'd let something come out that he shouldn't have.  
  
Harry grinned, either ignoring or not noticing the worry on the younger boy's face. "If you're the hero, can I be your side-kick?" he asked through another mouthful of his dinner.   
  
Still smiling, he set his the white carton asside and glanced about the kitchen, obviously lost. He was looking for something to drink, and while he and Peter kept their refreshments - usually soda - in their boxes, his father's mansion was different. And considering the fact that he hadn't been in the huge house, since he had started college a little over six months ago, he couldn't remember where the drinks were kept. Unless, of course, he wanted water... and he doubted that would quench the thirst the spicy Chinese food had worked up.  
  
"Ok, hero," Harry teased, "first crisis that needs our attention... Where does dad keep the drinks?"  
  
"I think..." the elder Osborn started, his eyes glazing over as they had frequently over the last two days whenever he tried to remember something on his own. "I think there's some brandy upstairs in my room... Maybe soda too..."  
  
Again, Peter let out a relieved sigh at hearing Osborn's answer. He'd been stupid, and he wasn't about to make that mistake again. He laughed at Harry, imagining his friend trying to crawl up a wall as his sidekick.   
  
"Would you like me to go get them sir?" He'd never been upstairs in the mansion before. In fact, he'd only been in the foyer once, and that was back when they were in high school.  
  
"No," Osborn responded, standing. "I need to get reaquainted with my home eventually, don't I? And what better a chance." Moving towards the door to the kitchen, he shot a half-smile over his shoulder. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, send a search party after me."  
  
And with that, the older man was gone.  
  
*  
  
* I wonder if Peter's sent that search party up for me, * Norman wondered idly, coming to the last door at the end of a long hallway.   
  
It had been nearly ten minutes since he had left the two college-aged boys in the kitchen, and he had been having a hell of a time getting around the mansion that he had once known like the back of his hand. In fact, upon reaching the second floor, he had come face to face with a labyrinth of long cooridors and empty rooms - and so far he had been down every hallway and in every room. Only one was left for him to search, the one he was currently standing in front of, before he would turn around and go back to Peter and Harry empty-handed.  
  
Pulling the door open, he was rewarded with a huge master bedroom that was bathed in burgandy from the carpets to the thick drapes covering the windows. Slowly, he moved inside, feeling somewhat out of place in a room that had once been his bedroom. True, he wasn't really tresspassing, and therefore had no need to feel apprehenshion... but that didn't stop anxiety from stabbing him in the pit of his stomach. And all he wanted to do now was get what he had come for and get out as quickly as he could.  
  
Winter-gray eyes scanning the room for the soda and alcohol he had promised his son, his gaze fell first on a group of masks hanging in a zig-zag pattern along the far wall. * A collection, * he mused silently, taking in the features of each of the frozen wooden faces. This was odd. Seeing things like the masks and attempting to piece part of his past back together from them was like trying to glean details about the personal life of someone you didn't know by looking at their hobbies. And still, Norman couldn't keep himself from staring at the collection, wondering where each had come from while knowing that doing so was futile.  
  
For a moment longer, his gaze lingered on the masks, and then he returned to searching for what he had come for, and that didn't take long. Both a half-full vial of brandy and a case of Pepsi Twist were waiting for him atop what appeared to be a minature bar near the masks. Moving over to them, he grabbed both, stuffing the case of soda under his arm and holding the liquor firmly in his other hand. Then, with a quick glance over his shoulder at the masks once again, he headed towards the door.   
  
And he was stopped again before he even reached the open portal. This time by a full-length mirror that struck a cord deep within him that - apparently - even forgetting the rest of his life couldn't erase.  
  
* So many good things all happening for you... *  
  
A shudder wracked Norman's body. It was that voice again, the one that had spoken to him for the first time in his office earlier in that day. He wanted to shake his head in protest, to run from the feral echo that was haunting him, but he couldn't. It was as if someone had super-glued his entire body in the position he had stopped in.   
  
Gasping for breath, he attempted to voice a protest, and he found that his vocal cords had been unaffected by whatever was rooting him to the spot. "What do you want?" he begged softly, his own voice distant and small to his ears. Almost as though he hadn't spoken out loud. But he had, hadn't he? It didn't matter. Though his silent prayer that the formless memory his mind had dug up wouldn't return did. He didn't want to hear the voice again. It was evil - that much he was sure of - and it scared him.  
  
But this time, Norman wasn't as lucky. This time, the shard of his broken memory pushed itself deeper into his tender mind.  
  
* To say what you won't. To do what you can't. To remove those in your way. *  
  
"No. Please."  
  
What was this? -Who- was this? Half of him wanted to know, and the other half of him cried out to stay in the dark, if only to keep the voice from returning. Luckily, however, the latter half won out - with a pained sigh, the elder Osborn found his limbs in his own control again. And the former businessman wasted no time in escaping from the room.  
  
*  
  
  
"Back."  
  
"We were getting worried, dad," Harry responded as he watched his father enter the room. "Did you find the drinks?"  
  
Norman hefted the brandy and the soda onto the counter and forced a smile, though there was something haunted about his expression. "Right here."  
  
"Any problems, sir?" The worry that had crept across Peter's face before now returned, eyes clouding slightly as he took in the man's almost dead appearance. He shivered softly, a tingling sensation rushing up his back, small spiders of fear crawling up the web that was his spine. Something didn't feel right. "You look a little shaken..."  
  
For a moment, the rusty-haired man considered telling Peter what had happened in his room only moments before. After all, the young genious -was- there to help him remember his past, wasn't he? And if this memory kept resurfacing to scare what wits he had left from his return from the grave, he at least deserved a fight chance. One that maybe Peter could provide by helping him remember what the hell was going on.   
  
He quickly disregarded the idea, though. What if the voice was something that was unique to him... something that didn't really exist... a hallucination maybe? And if it was, would Harry and Peter send him away for being crazy? He was terrified of the voice that had spoken to him twice in the form of a memory, but he was more afraid of being cast back into the black abyss his two sons had pulled him out of. But he couldn't lie to Peter again. So instead, he decided upon bringing up the masks he had found in his old room.  
  
"The masks in my room," he started slowly, filling a glass that awaited him near-by with brandy. "They're a little unsettling."  
  
Before Osborn had even finished, Peter's hold body had turned rigid, stiff like a board. One word kept repeating itself in his mind, taunting him, forcing him to remember what he didn't want to. It was his worst nightmare coming to life all at once and the brunnette took a step back, courage starting to crack.   
  
"Masks?" He asked, ocean-blue eyes widening slightly. He looked to Harry, a questioning gaze as he tried to hide his feelings from the two. "What masks?"  
  
"Oh... My father's got a collection of wooden masks in his room," the older of the two boys replied casually. "He's got about ten or fifteen from all over the world."  
  
"I see," Peter replied, voice softer than it had been. "What makes them so unnerving Mr. Osborn?"  
  
Norman frowned, attempting to put his feelings into words. "It's just the feeling that I'm in someone else's room... and that I'm trying to figure out who they are by looking through their things - in this case the masks. But it's odd, because I know I'm the person I'm trying so desprately to figure out."  
  
* And the fact that they remind me of something I can't put my finger on... something that scares me. *  
  
"That's understandable. You have been through a lot." The youngster shivered, eyes wandering to the door. Perhaps he needed to see these masks. Something about them just set him on edge.  
  
"Mr. Osborn, would you mind if I took a look at your masks?"  
  
"Not at all, Peter."  
  
Peter nodded, more to himself than to the elder man. Mustering his courage for reasons unknown, Peter hesitantly made his way to the door and began to leave.   
  
"Where is your room again?" He'd forgotten he had no clue where these masks were. It was embarrasing, to say the least, for him and he blushed softly, cheeks becoming a rosy tint.  
  
"I'll take you there. It's quite a maze upstairs if you don't know where you're going." Offering a sheepish grin that matched Peter's blush, Norman motioned towards the door before heading out. 


	6. The Price of Remembrance

Author's Note: ::clears her throat loudly and waves her hand:: You won't hate me for the way this chapter ends. ::waves hand again:: You will review this fic. ::waves hand yet another time:: These aren't the droids you're looking for... Err... Sorry. ^_^* But you can't blame me for trying, can you? After all, it -did- work for Artoni. Anyway, you know the deal. Enjoy.  
  
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Peter followed Norman slowly, staying behind him with his eyes slightly downcast. He couldn't look at the man before him. If he glanced up, he saw the back of his jaden enemy from not so long ago. It was discomforting, in so many ways, and, to prevent this feeling, Peter kept his gaze at the elder man's feet, following him up the stairs, down halls and round corners.  
  
"You're right. This place is like a maze." He stated softly, glancing at the paintings that adorned the walls.  
  
The elder Osborn nodded, his gaze finding a painting here or there that told him they were getting close to his former bedroom. For a moment, he considered admitting to Peter that he had gotten lost last time he had been up in twisting expanse of corridors, but he quickly decided against it. What little pride he had regained since his death simply wouldn't allow it. And beyond that, they were standing before the closed cherry wood doors of the room before he even had a chance to open his mouth.  
  
"Here we are," he answered instead, pushing the door aside somewhat hesitantly, before leading them both inside.  
  
A chill ran up Peter's spine the moment he stepped into the room, and again, he was reminded that something wasn't right about any of this. Goosebumps forming on his arms and the tiny hairs on his neck standing up, the genius was put on full edge as he glanced slowly around the room. And then he saw them. The collection of masks that Mr. Osborn had spoken of.   
  
"Is that them?" It was a stupid question, this he knew. But there was that need, the constant drive to assert his assumption and the hope, deep down, that he was wrong. They were simple masks, nothing but carved wood, this he knew and understood. He'd made one before, as all elementary students did. This, however, did not stop the shivers that racked his body softly as he stared at their hollow eyes, their stoic expressions and their delicately painted markings.   
  
"Those are very unique and interesting masks, sir." He stated softly, throat clenching as tried desperately to get the words out.   
  
"Yes," Norman responded absently, his eyes catching the mirror on the far side of the room. For a moment, his twin on the other side of the glass went rigid as his own limbs stiffened, and then with a deep sigh he relaxed once more. No disembodied voice this time.  
  
Stumbling over to a leather armchair that sat next to the small bar, the elder man flopped down on it, suddenly tired. "Feel free to look around the rest of the room, Peter. I think I'm going to sit down for a moment."  
  
Hair falling into his eyes as he nodded, Peter moved over to the masks slowly, extending a shaking hand to make contact with one of the masks, from what he assumed to be Africa. Electricity shot through his fingers as he slowly caressed the exterior of the mask, tracing the designs carved into the wood.  
  
"How long ago did you purchase these?" Walking around the rest of the room, tracing his hand along anything in its path, Peter couldn't help but feel a little out of place, what with the lavish decorating and the expensive furniture. But he shook his head, turning to Osborn, sapphire eyes shining with curiosity and worry.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
"Just a little tired," Norman responded, his tone reflecting weariness. "I think it may be the shock from all we accomplished today." Meeting Peter's eyes with his own, he offered the college-aged boy a small, disarming smile, "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine in a minute or two."   
  
Peter nodded, standing nervously in front of Osborn, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Why he was nervous, he didn't know or understand. All that he could think of was Norman staring at him, boring holes through him, even though he knew the elder man wasn't doing that at all. Slowly, with apprehension building, he turned around to look at the masks once more. He'd rather face their creepy and empty gazes, rather than the hollow and once crazed eyes of Norman Osborn.  
  
Sighing inwardly, Norman allowed himself to sink deeper into the burgundy leather of the chair he had collapsed into. For a moment, he simply sat there attempting to relax completely, his eyelids fluttering closed and then with another sigh - this one out loud - he forced himself to sit up straight. If he had sat like that for too long, the rusty-tressed man had the feeling he would have fallen asleep... and that was the last thing he felt Peter needed. Closed in an unfamiliar place, with far from comforting masks all around him.  
  
His winter-gray reopening with a great deal of effort on their owner's part, Norman immediately spotted a long-forgotten issue of the Daily Bugle sitting in the open storage area behind the bar. Reaching for it, he pulled it into his lap and began to thumb idly through it, glancing up once or twice to see if Peter was ready to go yet. Finding that the young genius wasn't he decided that if he couldn't catch a quick nap, then he could at least attempt to catch up on a little more of his past. And, coincidentally enough, a piece of the puzzle sat neatly on the front page.   
  
'Oscorp board members killed at World Unity Festival,' the paper read in huge, black letters. Then, in a slightly smaller font right beneath the headline, 'Is Norman Osborn next?'  
  
Scanning the article over with a frown on his face, he sighed at its end. Well that hadn't told him anything he hadn't figured out earlier in the day with Peter. But still, it was a little unnerving to see that kind of news in print - especially when the paper reminded him that the killer had never been caught.  
  
* And who would do such a thing? * he wondered, his eyes still focused on the paper. * Who would kill a handful of innocent people and then just disappear? * Looking up slowly, the former CEO of Oscorp once more caught his reflection in the gold-trimmed mirror. And as his eyes met his mirror twin's, the answer came to him.  
  
* We killed them. * the formless voice that had haunted him twice already that day hissed in his ear.  
  
Fear trampled through his mind like a stampede of animals, hailing from the same place his beloved masks had come through. Not this. Not now. Not with Peter standing only a few feet away. And what did the voice mean when he said 'we'... Certainly he wouldn't have killed his own board members... would he? Doubt sang in harmony with the chords of cold fear that raced up his spine.   
  
"We?" he managed in a small voice, the back of his throat suddenly as dry as cotton.   
  
* Remember? * the voice taunted. * Your little accident in the lab? *  
  
And in truth... he -did- remember. It all came back to him in a rush, banishing the fear and doubt back to whatever abyss they had crawled out.  
  
He was the Norman Osborn, head of Oscorp. True, that much was a fact, but there was more to that self-assigned definition of himself that he had imagined. So much more. Like the fact that deep within his subconscious lurked the fiend known to almost all New York as the Green Goblin. And that fiend had saved his life... had dug him out of the grave when his alter-ego realized they were in a coffin that had sat underground for a little more than two weeks. That fiend was his savior. And that darker persona that dwelled in his head hated Spider-Man - the man the people of the city called hero.  
  
Wait. Back up.   
  
Spiderman?   
  
Wildly, Norman's eyes flicked to Peter's back. Yes. Peter Parker was Spiderman - he remembered that now too. He remembered it all now. An animalistic sneer distorting his features, he bitterly recalled how Parker had failed to save him when he had escaped from the Green Goblin and obtained a fleeting second of himself back. Parker. His surrogate son had turned him away. It was enough to drive one mad with fury. And what better way to handle that building rage, then by letting his alter ego out to play.  
  
Mentally stepping aside, he allowed the Green Goblin have the control he had been demanding since he had come to Norman in his office earlier that day. And the first thing the Goblin did was reach for a knife - used for slicing lemons and limes - that hid under the bar, pure malice sparkling in his soul-less depths. Then, sliding out of the leather armchair with unnatural grace, he stepped behind his mortal enemy and raised the blade over his head, poising himself for a crippling strike.  
  
A sneer.  
  
"Honey, I'm home."  
  
And then the knife came down. 


	7. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Author's Note: Jeeze... I thought ff.net would never get back to a point where I could post stuff again... Anyway, thanks for being patient while the server was stupid, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. If all goes well, I should have another for you sometime this week... But only if you keep those reviews coming. ^_-  
  
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A trickle, a sensation, a wave of unexplainable emotion. A spider sense. -His- Spider sense. With great speed and agility, Peter turned, dodging the knife and staring at it as it found its mark in the center of the very mask he'd been studying. That voice... the one that had haunted his nightmares since the supposed end to that villains reign of terror.   
  
"H-how?" How was it possible for him to have remembered everything so quickly. Only a moment ago, Peter had watched him as he nearly fell into a sleep state. So how? The Daily Bugle not to far off answered his question and he cursed himself inwardly for not noticing it sooner. It was back as it once was. Villain cornering hero. But, he reminded himself, the hero always came out on top.  
  
"So... Gobby's back to play some more?" Plastering on a smirk to hide the fear that pounded in his chest like a drum, Peter too, slipped into his alter ego. It always made him feel more confident when he was Spiderman.  
  
Pulling the knife out of the wooden mask he had managed to spear instead of Peter, the Goblin offered his nemesis a predatory smile. "Did you miss me, web-head?" he asked, mock fondness in his voice as he slashed towards Peter with the silver blade once again.  
  
"Of course," He responded, lying through his teeth as he dodged the Goblin again. In the absence of his nemesis, he'd forgotten how fast the hellish man really was. It would take everything he had to keep dodging, but then again, Harry was only right downstairs. He cast a worried glance at the door, hoping to God that his best friend would not decide to pick that point in time to wander upstairs.  
  
"Fighting a psycho in a confined space always makes my day." With that, he lashed out at Norman with his fist, taking the offensive in order to better his chances.  
  
The auburn-haired psycho dodged the punch easily, his far from sane grin widening. "Aw... it warms my heart to hear you say that. In fact," he continued, arching his brow as a insincere look of hurt crossed his face, "I feel bad that I didn't break out the flightsuit and glider for the occasion. But those were -missing- from -my- lab." It was a gamble - he really didn't know if Peter had hidden his things, but both halves of him doubted the other man would have left the flightsuit and glider where he could find them.   
  
The hurt look split into one of horrific fury and the demon that wore Norman Osborn's flesh lashed out once again with his weapon.  
  
"I've got no idea what you're talking about," Peter started, bending backwards and flipping to dodge another swipe from the knife that the lunatic before him still wielded. "And frankly, I'm hurt that you would blame me for something like that." But this was no game to be easily played and super hero reprimanded himself for treating this as such. It was time to get serious before he ended up with a scar down his back.  
  
"Alright Gobby. Put Mr. Osborn back in control before you get yourself hurt." Goblin was fast, too fast in fact, and, with chestnut hair falling in his eyes, Peter did something he'd never thought possible. He tripped over a footstool. Stumbling backward, he caught himself before he could fall and flipped around to steady himself once more.  
  
"Sorry," the Goblin replied, insane glee coursing through his veins at the sight of his enemy faltering, "but Osborn's otherwise occupied." And with that, the former head of Oscorp lunged forward, attempting to punctuate his sentence and puncture the arm that Peter had left wide open.  
  
A searing pain ripped through Peter's arm as Osborn tried to take his arm off with the small object that was now impaling the super hero's upper arm. Wrenching away, Peter glared, iron red blood slipping down his muscular arm and splattering on the floor. "Jeeze Gobby. I believe you've gotten faster." He smirked lightly, pulling the knife out of his arm and throwing it over the bar. "But you're still not as fast as me."  
  
The Goblin returned Peter's confident smirk, although the expression did not extend to his eyes, which were locked on the weapon on the ground, a calculating look in them. "Pretty big talk for someone who's bleeding as badly as you are. And as I recall, that's not the first time you've hurt your poor arm. What's the count now? Two?"   
  
Slowly the monster in control of Norman pulled his winter-gray gaze away from the knife on the floor and met Peter's eyes. "Or has someone other than me had the good fortune of marking you, hero?"  
  
Before the auburn-haired man's nemesis could respond, however, a voice floated into the room from the hallway outside. "Dad?"   
  
The Goblin grunted softly, letting the former head of Oscorp step back into control of the body the pair shared. There was a subtle shift from insanity back to sanity in Norman's light eyes and then the man stumbled, almost falling before catching himself on the edge of the mini bar. Switching between his two personas always took a lot out of him... and the memories from his time spent as his alter ego were always vague and fuzzy. Like something out of a dream.  
  
Offering Peter an unreadable look, he answered his son. "In here, Harry."  
  
And as if on cue, the younger Osborn entered, worry etched upon his face. "I though you might have gotten lost, or something might have happened," Harry explained softly, his eyes fixing automatically on the carpet. The only time he had been invited into his father's room was when his father wanted to, 'have a word with him'. Those words never ended well, and old habits died hard.  
  
Peter held his breath when Harry entered, glaring at the CEO and panicking at the same time. Harry was going to find out he was Spiderman, which meant that he'd lose his best friend and probably gain another enemy. He smirked lightly, an image of Green Goblin and mini Goblin son floating into his mind as he waited for Harry to say something, anything. Hand tightly covering his wound, a crimson pool forming at his feet, Peter finally exhaled, the first sound in the room for what seemed like an eternity. And still, he could not bring himself to say anything. Let Harry initiate the conversation to come. Peter would not start something he was afraid he couldn't finish.   
  
"Jesus, Pete," Harry started noticing the blood at his roommate's feet. "What the hell happened?"  
  
"Peter tripped over the footstool coming back to me after looking at my masks," Norman supplied quietly. "When he fell, his arm scraped the knife I keep under the bar. ...It was sticking out... and I had noticed it before he tripped, too. I should have moved it before something like that could happen."   
  
The youth glanced from elder to son with obvious apprehension. Shoulders tense, Peter took a step backward, trying desperately to wake himself from this terrible nightmare. The Goblin was back, he'd just tried to kill him, and now, his only friend had walked in on the entire thing. Oh, and he couldn't forget the fact that he'd been impaled in the arm, no, of course not.   
  
* Maybe I should just get it removed, * he mused. * It's caused me enough trouble as is. * That would be funny. Swinging from building to building with only one arm. Painful, but funny.   
  
"Don't worry about it, sir." He locked his now icy blue gaze with Norman's. "It's not like you were -trying- to get me hurt."  
  
"Are you sure?" the elder Osborn asked, an evident lack of sanity swimming to the surface of his gaze for a moment before disappearing again. "I feel bad, Peter."  
  
It took all his restraint to keep from lunging at the madman before him, but some how, Peter accomplished it. Shaking his head, auburn locks falling into his eyes, he spoke above a whisper, eyes steady on Harry, so as not to let his anger get a hold of him.  
  
"It's fine."  
  
For a moment, there was silence as Norman gazed at him looking somewhat worried, and then slowly he nodded. "Well, at least let me get the first aid kit when we get back downstairs." Then with a gesture towards the door, the elder Osborn said, "Shall we?"  
  
Harry nodded mutely, sure that he was missing out on something, but unable to put his finger on it. Had Peter and his father gotten into a fight? No. That couldn't be right. Norman and Peter got along famously - in fact, Harry could remember joking once that the elder man should adopt Peter - and besides, his father would never have hurt Peter. Even if there -had- been a falling out between the two men.  
  
The hero nodded sharply, watching Norman move toward the door before starting there himself, hand still clasped around his wound. Shooting Harry a small smile, Peter exited the room before either man and was halfway down the hall before he stopped and turned. There was so much to think about, he needed as much time to himself as possible.   
  
"It's still bleeding pretty bad and I don't want to stain your rug. I'm going to go wash it off before I put a bandage on it. I'll meet you downstairs." With that said, he continued walking. Hadn't he seen a bathroom just down the hall? He wandered, mind racing with things other than where he was going.  
  
Sure enough, the bathroom was where he'd seen it and, opening the door hastily, Peter slipped in, locking the door behind him, blood smearing all over the knob.  
  
"I can't believe this. All that hard work, all that time... for nothing. I could have lost my job... and all I get is a lunatic trying to slit my throat." That was selfish, this he knew. The real thing that bothered him was that he'd let down Harry. The Goblin was loose again and Spiderman was going to have to stop him, just like before. Harry would never forgive him.  
  
Cool liquid slipping down his still bleeding arm, Peter sighed, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Blue met blue, lightning running up his spine. Harry! He'd left his best friend with a lunatic. How stupid could you get?  
  
"And they say I'm a genius." He muttered cynically, quickly wrapping up his wound with a spare towel before stopping in his tracks. Norman would never let the Goblin hurt Harry. This, Peter was certain. Why? He wasn't sure. Perhaps it was all the times that the Goblin had attacked and Harry had been present. He'd never full out attacked his own son. The worst that had happened was a bump on the head. Okay, well maybe it wasn't a bump.  
  
And suddenly his phone was ringing, causing the brunette to jump nearly five feet in the air. Damn those high pitched ringers. "Hello?" He answered roughly, walking out of the bathroom. "Mr. Jameson?" Well this was new. Jameson had never really called him personally before. It had always been his secretary. "Yeah, 'course I can come in." He nodded into the phone, knowing full well that the man on the other line wouldn't be able to see him. "An emergency? Right. I'll be there as soon as possible." A click met his ears as he folded the phone, placing it back in his pockets as he hurried along the halls back toward Harry.   
  
"I'm really sorry about this Harry," He started, frowning lightly at Norman, ocean blue flashing with an emotion only the elder man would recognize. "Something came up at work and I've got to take off. You know Jameson, busy this, hurry that, don't be late or your fired and I'll sue you for everything you've got." He chuckled at that, smiling at his best friend. "I'll see you at home later, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Sure thing," Harry responded, a vacant expression on his face.   
  
And Norman who stood behind his son, offered a similar blank look, his eyes lost in the carpet just beyond Peter's feet. "I honestly wonder why you put up with him sometimes, Peter. But I guess if you like the job, you stick with it despite who you work for." Raising his light eyes to find his son's roommates, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. "Oh, Peter, before you go... Are we meeting tomorrow for another one of my sessions?"  
  
The blossoming photographer locked his eyes with Norman's, searching them for any sign of the insanity he knew dwelled deep within.   
  
"I'm not sure." He finally replied, calm expression plastered on his face as he kept his eyes locked on the sane half of his nemesis. "It really depends on how big of an emergency this is. Judging by Jameson's tone, it's probably about some psycho causing chaos. He probably wants me to snap some shots of Spiderman taking him down." He really hated it when he was mocked. Especially by Norman and his alter ego. It made him feel low, like dirt even. And Norman's comment was only adding salt to the wound that was now a constant reminder his nightmare was alive and well. No one else knew how to get under his skin like Norman did. "I'll call when I find out."  
  
Nodding thoughtfully, Norman replied, "Well, you'd better hurry then. I would hate to find out Harry and I got you fired somehow."  
  
And with that, Peter turned and headed back toward the entrance and out the door, pausing only once to shoot a warning glance at Norman. 


	8. More Than Just Dinner Plans

Author's Note: Good God... x.x Fanfiction.net's actually allowing posting again? ::dies:: It's a mircale. Anyway here's another chapter... and since those of you reading this have probably been waiting forever, I'll post another chapter sometime this week. Well... that's assuming you continue reviewing.  
  
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Norman Osborn sighed deeply, leaning back into the cool embrace of the chair's leather, once again confined to his former office. This time, however, he had not come back to hide from the world at his son's request. This time, his alter ego had locked him away, demanding that he first try to find out where Spiderman had hidden the flightsuit and glider when they had found it missing from Oscorp. Initially, Norman had told the Goblin that they would never find it... that the red and blue-clad hero had probably destroyed it. But he had been wrong. On one of the Goblin's attempts to find something he could use against the wall-crawler - such as a suitable battleground - demon and host had stumbled into an all but forgotten junkyard. Less than ten minutes later, fate had found him staring at the empty jaden shell that was the flightsuit. The glider and mask were a scant few inches away, covered in dirt.   
  
That was a week ago.  
  
With that done, the rusty-tressed Osborn tried to convince himself that he was off the hook, but the Goblin had other plans. And now, once again, he was sitting in his former office formulating a plan. This one to kill the little spider. Though about twenty minutes ago, both monster and man had gotten bored, unable to find anything that wouldn't end the same way it had last time they had attempted to trap Spiderman. So now Norman found his mind wandering, or more specifically dancing around the subject of his revival.   
  
Where had his devious alter ego been when he had found himself in his old office at Oscorp nearly a week ago?   
  
Nearly a half-hour of contemplating it, and the elder Osborn still couldn't come up with a solid answer. With a sigh, he let his eyelids flutter closed in hopes that something plausible would come to him. And as luck would have it, something -did- come. Death and then digging the two of them out of the grave had weakened the Goblin, obviously. And maybe that's why he had been a shattered, blank slate when his alter ego had gotten them back to Oscorp... Maybe that's why the Goblin had taken a sabbatical from the back of the auburn-haired man's mind. Hell, maybe his demon and savior had been weaker than either of them wanted to admit.   
  
It made perfect sense.  
  
* Or maybe, * the Goblin hissed in his ear, * you're the weak one. Maybe I knew your etcha-sketch of a psyche couldn't handle it if I came back full force - if I re-drew the picture all at once. So -maybe- I turned the picture into a puzzle... Something you could solve at your own leisure.   
  
* And you sure as hell took your sweet old time. *  
  
The elder Osborn made a face. "I only took two days."  
  
* Two days too long, Osborn. If you weren't so fragile, so weak, we would have had the element of surprise and Spiderman would be dead at our feet right now. *  
  
"As I recall, the element of surprise didn't work to well for us in the bed room. Or during our 'last' battle with Spiderman."  
  
Anger crawled along the former CEO's spine, forcing a sneer to his face. * If I didn't need you, I swear I'd break your arms off and beat you with them. * the Goblin responded, sweeping a low growl past his host's lips. * Besides, I seem to remember something about you wanting to attack him too. *  
  
"...It was a mistake..."  
  
Norman's eyebrows arched themselves at the Goblin's command, his furious expression being replaced by one of mock surprise. * The great Norman Osborn admits to making a mistake? Quick! Someone call CNN! Mr. 'High and Mighty' finally came off his horse. *  
  
And in response to his darker side's prodding, the auburn-haired man simply scowled.  
  
* Fine, Osborn. You're right. It was a mistake. So what does that mean? *  
  
"We need to fix it."  
  
* How? * the demon that shared the elder Osborn's body pressed.  
  
"We need a new plan."  
  
* Yes. And I happen to have one... But I'll need a volunteer from our home audience. *  
  
The former head of Oscorp furrowed his brow in confusion. "Home audience?" he asked softly, trying to figure out what his other half meant. And then it hit him. Slow apprehension poisoning his features he shook his head. "...Harry...?"  
  
A smirk. * You're on a roll today, Osborn. *  
  
Cold, almost dead, fear again. "What are you going to do?"  
  
* I'm gonna use your son to make the little spider bleed. *  
  
Great. His alter ego was going to use a plan that had failed them before - kidnap one of the hero's friends - with his son as the bait. He didn't like it, and yet, he had the sinking feeling that the voice that curled throughout the back of his mind wouldn't reconsidered. But that didn't mean he wouldn't try - he'd just have to be sly about it.   
  
"...And if Spiderman doesn't show up to save Harry?"  
  
He could almost hear the Goblin shrug. * Then the kid takes the web-head's place. A cracked skull or two always sets a hero running. *  
  
"You can't do that!" Norman protested loudly. "I won't let you hurt Harry."  
  
A throaty cackle echoed off the walls of the elder Osborn's head. * I can do whatever I want. *   
  
Norman's hand curled involuntarily at the Goblin's command, an over-confident smirk slipping unbidden onto the auburn-haired man's face. "That's why I'm in charge," he spoke aloud, despite his host's protests. Then, slipping back into the darkness of Osborn's mind, the darker half of the scientist continued.   
  
* But I'm not gonna hurt the kid - he won't even feel it if I have to snap his neck. *   
  
Fury building up inside of him, the former CEO of Oscorp opened his mouth to protest again, only to be cut off by an annoyed Goblin. * Can it. It's time to ante up and your son is our best chip. And our little hero won't fail us. It's his duty. * A calculating pause and then, in no more than a whisper, * ...His weakness... *  
  
"I hope you're right," Norman responded with a sigh. This was pointless. His alter ego wasn't going to let him win, and he -did- want to get his revenge on Spiderman. So why bother?  
  
* I'm always right, Osborn. *  
  
*  
  
"Peter?" Harry's voice called from across the small hallway that separated the two boy's rooms. "You in there Pete?"   
  
Coming to stand just outside his roommate's door, a gray suit wrapped in dry-cleaning plastic draped over his arm, he sighed. His father had invited him to go out to lunch - despite his protests - at one of the two Osborn's favorite bristos in celebration of the clean bill of health Peter had given him. True, it was nice to be able to genuinely say that he had his father back, but Harry was still wary about his father wandering around in the places he used to frequent. It was like begging to be shot in the foot. And this was about as frequent a place as his father could've chosen. This was bad news. In fact, the only thing Harry could honestly say was good about this whole situation was the fact that his father had invited Peter along.  
  
Maybe his best friend could talk his father into something simpler. Like take-out.  
  
Had his name just been called? Lazily raising his head from the books he'd fallen asleep on, paper stuck to his head, Peter looked around the room slowly, eyes glazed and red from lack of sleep. Finding no body for the voice, the struggling college student went back to his new bed, head finding it's comfy pillow of paper. When his name was called again, Peter, still half-asleep, stood up and walked to the door slowly, fumbling for the knob.   
  
"Yeah," He yawned, as he opened the door. Shielding his eyes from the light that now invaded his room, Peter stepped out to stand next to his roommate, running a hand through his tousled chocolate hair as his eyes finally adjusted to the light. "What can I do for you Harry?" He asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.   
  
"Were you still sleeping?" Harry asked, a grin finding its way to his face as he momentarily forgot his problems. "Jeeze Peter, it's nearly noon."  
  
"Yeah, I was just taking a little nap," Here he yawned, stretching his full body out in a failing attempt to wake himself up. Yawning always made him sleepier. "I got back from work late and I've got a test in Atomic Physics tomorrow morning, so I've been studying." He blinked a few times, trying to stop his vision from fading in and out.   
  
"Is it really twelve?" That was a first, Peter Parker sleeping in past eight in the morning. He had to laugh at that. Aunt May would have killed him if she'd known. "But what do you need Harry?"  
  
"Oh," the younger Osborn started, the smile that had been on his face being replaced with a worried expression. "Dad wants to go out for lunch. At one of the places he used to take me all the time when he was..." Harry trailed off, not wanting to touch the subject of his father being dead in the first place. Alive now or not, it was a still a sore spot for him.   
  
With a faint sigh, he gestured to the outfit draped over his arm and continued, "Anyway, I came by to pick up a suit. And to ask if you wanted to come with us... It was dad's idea."  
  
"I don't think so Harry," Just the mere mention of Norman Osborn had Peter on full alert. The way he tensed up, it was as if he expected a pumpkin bomb to come flying in at any moment. But that was foolish. He'd disposed of the flightsuit and the glider himself. There was no way for Norman to get a hold of such weapons. At least, this was what Peter told himself.  
  
"I really need to get a good grade on this exam. If I don't get at least a 94.5%, I could wind up with a 90% average. That doesn't get me a good job after I graduate." Hey, old habits died hard. "But tell your dad I'm sorry that I wasn't able to attend. Oh, and Harry, make sure you be careful."  
  
With a shrug Harry turned away from the door. "Suit yourself Peter. But when you die of studying, don't blame it on me," he teased, but in truth he wasn't feeling so joking. What had his friend meant by 'be careful'? This was lunch with his father. Nothing to be worried about. Unless of course Peter meant it as 'be careful not to let anyone see your dad'. That seemed more plausible.  
  
"Anyway, see you later."  
  
And with that, the younger Osborn turned and descended the apartment's stairs.  
  
Peter watched his roommate go with apprehension, waiting until he was fully out of sight before he turned back to his room and the task before him. He tried to focus, he really did, but the more he tried, the more his mind wandered back to Harry. Or rather, Harry alone with Norman.   
  
"Don't be an idiot. Even if the guy is a psycho, he'd never hurt his son." He nodded to himself as if to assert what he was saying was true. "Besides, it's you he wants." And with that, he returned to his studying and memorizing all the formulas he needed.  
  
Several moments later, there was a small, mechanical noise outside of Peter's window and with a shower of glass something the size of a softball flew through the newly created hole in the apartment's window. A pumpkin bomb.  
  
There it was. A symbol of the nightmare that was unfolding before him. The shattering glass, the small device that grinned at him wickedly. It was a horror, a horror with no voice or face. And it needed none. He knew the power of this small object. He knew what it did to buildings, and what it did to flesh. His hand reached for his cheek instinctively, remembering the searing pain that had rushed through him when the pumpkin bomb had exploded during his final battle with the Green Goblin.  
  
But why hadn't it exploded? Moving hesitantly over to the ball, that was now glowing a vibrant green. A note attached, written in large, scrawling handwriting that could only have been the Green Goblin's answered Peter's questions.  
  
"I've kidnapped Osborn's son," it read. "If you want him, come to the place where you thought you put me to rest. See you soon, hero."   
  
"Damn it!" Peter shouted, crumpling the paper and throwing it across the room along with the ball. A crash met his curse, but he didn't care. He was such a fool. How could he have possibly believed that the Goblin would not hurt Harry? He was demented, he was insane. Nothing would stop him from getting at Peter. Nothing, not even the death of his own son.   
  
"Where I put him to rest... I'll make sure you stay there this time." It was here he noticed what had broken when he threw the pumpkin bomb in his fit of rage. The picture he had taken with Harry after graduation lay cracked on the floor, and Peter bent, picking it up with delicate hands.   
  
"I'll stop you Goblin. You won't rise from the grave again." Moments later, the super hero spider launched himself from his balcony, latching onto a pole with his webbing before swinging to the one place he never thought he'd visit again.   
  
The junkyard. 


	9. Battle Royale

Author's Note: Well, I promised another chapter sometime this week, didn't I? So here's the said chapter. Woo! Anyway, you know the drill - read and review. I won't post any more of the fic until the reviews pick up again. And another shout out to the girls at the Norman Osborn lj community - you guys have been wonderful.  
  
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Thunder rumbled in the distance, causing the Goblin - now fully clad in the flightsuit, which he had forced his other half to fix and clean - to look up suddenly. His topaz line of vision was greeted with a yellow-gray sky in which dark storm clouds almost blotted out. Rain was coming. If the sky and the low growl of thunder hadn't told him that, then the smell of nitrogen that was assaulting his hidden nostrils did. And as if to confirm that fact, fat drops of rain spattered suddenly against his jaden breastplate, almost startling him.  
  
The Goblin scowled. Rain would make this whole thing harder. Especially considering the ground he and Spiderman were going to fight on was already slick with filth. But his unpleasant expression soon turned indifferent as he realized that while the rain would make it more difficult for him, the web-head would be having the same problem. And where he could use the glider to get around if things got too tough, it would be hard for the hero to use his webbing, unless of course he wanted to bring years of garbage down on top of him. That was one of the reasons he had chosen this place. To see how the spider played without the webbing that had turned the tables on the Green Goblin last time.  
  
He cast a glance at Harry, who was neatly bound and resting between the two walls of an open trash compactor, unconscious. Had it been his decision, the boy would be dead right now... but Norman hadn't been too keen on that idea. Ah well. The younger Osborn would be dead soon enough - with or without his host's permission. But first, Spiderman would die.  
  
And there he was. As lightning flashed behind him, Spiderman glared down at the green speckle that was the Green Goblin. Perched atop a high mound of garbage and out of sight, the super hero frowned. This was bad. Rain was no good for his webbing. Yes, it was strong, but the water would weaken it considerably and make it easier for the jaden psycho to break. Sure, he still had his spider-sense and yeah, he still had his agility, but without his webbing, he'd be at a big disadvantage.  
  
"Should have known you'd plot this out so well..." But this was not what bothered him. Where was Harry? Crimson-clad head turning in multiple directions, Spiderman started to wonder if he was too late. That is, until he spotted the rust-colored tresses of the younger Osborn.  
  
"Goblin, what have you done?" And with that, Spiderman leapt forward latching on to different mounds of garbage which he knew wouldn't fall beneath him until he finally made his last leap, only to stand in front of his arch-nemesis.  
  
"Welcome to the party, Spiderman. I was beginning to wonder if you got my invitation."  
  
"Oh I got it. You owe me a new window, by the way." Spiderman took a step forward, muscles stiffening as he waited for the Green Goblin to move. When his enemy did not, he continued speaking, hoping to reach out to Norman, who was the saner of the two.  
  
"Why would you kidnap your own son? No, Mr. Osborn, why would you let the Goblin kidnap your son?"  
  
"Osborn had no say in this," the Goblin hissed, the yellow plates over the demon's eyes sliding away with a mechanical whir. True, it probably would have been a better idea to keep the shielding in place to protect his eyes from the rain but it would have kept him from the one thing he wanted more than anything right now. To see the look in his enemy's face when he finally managed to kill him.   
  
His face poisoned with a sneer he continued, half to himself, "I'm in charge."  
  
"You're in charge? Well you might as well surrender now. At least Norman can form a rational and coherent thought. You're so insane you'd probably throw yourself into the compactor." It was hard to keep up the calm and confident attitude, especially since this was how it had been before. Memories of that night flooded back into Spiderman's mind. Goblin had been in charge then too. And he'd nearly defeated him last time.  
  
"You may think you're stronger, but you're not. In reality, if he wanted to, Norman Osborn could crush you like a bug."  
  
"Osborn?" the Goblin snorted. "The only thing Osborn could crush is a soda can - and that's on a good day." The demon inside the verdant armor laughed loudly before pointing out, "And I get the feeling you can sympathize, after all, you wouldn't have to resort to using -my- words if you didn't."   
  
A taunting grin spreading over his features he recalled the night that he had told Spiderman the same thing about being able to crush him like a bug, but not wanting to. And that how it worked with him and Norman. Perhaps his other half could crush him, but why would he want to? The Goblin, Norman's self-appointed champion, had saved him from death and from financial humiliation on more than one occasion. He was always right. Always helpful. So why would Norman want to push aside his helping hand now?  
  
He wouldn't. That was truth enough for him.  
  
So he was caught. And the worst part was that he had received no response from Norman like he was hoping his comments would bring. So what now? He really didn't know what to do. Obviously, talking wasn't going to resolve anything. As it always turned out, he'd have to fight. Fight to save his friend and fight to finally bury the demon that had haunted him for so long.  
  
"So? What now? It's your move. You should know, I'm going to stop you no matter what."  
  
"No, web-head. You'll -try- to stop me."  
  
And with that the Goblin moved forward, closing the gap between the two of them until there was a mere few feet between super-hero and villain. A crooked tongue of lightening splitting the sky behind him, he grinned. "You'll try, and then you'll die." Then, out of seemingly nowhere, a pumpkin bomb sailed through the sky towards the red and blue hero, this one very much armed.  
  
Spider-sense going wild, a stinging sensation rushing up his spine, Spiderman saw the small orb come flying with only a few seconds to spare. Jumping backwards, the web-slinger was met with an explosion that knocked all of the air out of him. He could only imagine what the full impact would have been like. But that wasn't the important thing. What mattered now was that he kept moving. Ribs screaming in protest, the super hero dashed to the left jumping onto the side of a totaled mini-van before using it to propel himself at the mid-section of the emerald villain.   
  
A feral snarl escaped the Goblin's parted lips as he found himself on the ground, his face inches from the jagged edges of a broken mirror as a result of Spiderman's wild lunge. For a moment, time seemed to freeze, as he looked up to find his enemy attempting to fall on top of him to pin him down in slow motion. Scowling at the though, he rolled out of the way, splashing mud and garbage all over his armor as he stopped his escape in one of the many murky puddle that had started collecting all over the fight scene. And it had taken Norman so long to clean the suit up after their last fight! Not that it would have mattered normally, but anything he could make into something fueled his anger and his adrenaline, which was the important part.  
  
Lashing out with a foot, he caught his nemesis just below the rib cage as he fell.  
  
Spiderman gasped in pain the burning in his ribs increasing to an unimaginable amount. He bit his bottom lip, surpressing the urge to cry out in pain as he clutched his side, falling to his knees. Crap. It seemed he'd broken a rib in the explosion, and he'd just made this fact apparent to the Goblin. But, instead of giving up and preparing for death, Spiderman was back on his feet, swinging punches at the man that was causing him so much emotional and physical pain.  
  
"Aww... does the little spider have a boo-boo?" the Goblin taunted, trying to raise himself back to a standing position while dodging swings from the other man. Taking two strong punches to his chest and one to his stomach, he managed to get to his feet, breathing heavily.  
  
"It's nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you." Spiderman spat back, himself breathing heavily as he continued his onslaught of punches and kicks.  
  
"Talk all you want, hero. It's not going to save you." Catching one of Spiderman's attacks in his hand, he sneered before tightening his grip and pushing downwards, forcing the other man to the ground.  
  
The hero cringed, hearing his bones crack as he slowly sank to one knee. The pain that shot through his hand only served as a distraction from the pain that still coursed through his chest. In a desperate attempt to free his hand, Spiderman swung his leg up, hoping to catch the Goblin in the stomach.  
  
Stumbling backwards as his rival's foot connected with his stomach, a hand flew momentarily to his wounded flesh. Then slowly, the Goblin started to inch forward again, trying to put him in a position where he could attack the red and blue-clad other without being attacked himself. Finally finding what he considered to be such a position, he raised a fist, ready to lunge forward and attack, only to be stopped by a moan.  
  
Harry.  
  
Apparently the little Osborn had woken up.  
  
Rain clouding his vision and pain distracting his thoughts, Spiderman could only rely on his senses to help him survive this fight. That idea wasn't too appealing and while he had trained his spider-sense since his last confrontation with the Goblin, it still wasn't as honed as he'd hoped it would be.   
  
A flash of emerald and Spiderman turned full round, ready to block any attacks the super-strong lunatic was ready to throw at him. When none came, he glanced up only to find his adversary staring at something else. Following his line of vision, Spiderman too spotted Harry and gasped. This needed to end, and fast. If Harry was injured, he'd never be able to forgive himself.  
  
Using the distraction to his advantage, Spiderman flipped over the Goblin, landing behind him and nearly slipping in the mud. Regaining his footing, he moved to try and grab the Goblin in a choke hold, hoping to prevent him from causing anymore harm.  
  
Growling as Spiderman's fingers wrapped around his neck, the Goblin lashed out wildly, praying he would hit his nemesis hard enough to get him to let go.  
  
And sure enough, the Goblin hit Spiderman in his injured rib, causing the wall-crawler's grip to loosen and then let go completely. But, unwilling to let his opponent win, Spiderman was up again, aiming a kick and a punch at the Goblin's still turned back.  
  
Pain exploded in the jaden-armored man's as both of Spiderman's attacks connected, but he managed to ignore both. With another feral snarl, he moved towards the trash compactor he had left Harry in with purpose, casting a annoyed look over his shoulder that dared his rival to try and stop him. After all, this was why he had kiddnapped the auburn-haired youth in the first place, wasn't it? To call Spiderman out.   
  
Immediately, Spiderman knew what his nightmare was planning to do and he watched, as if in slow motion, as the Goblin got closer and closer to his destination.   
  
"Goblin, no!" He cried, reaching out to stop him before dashing off, agility proving nearly useless as he stumbled and slipped in the mud and filth that was their battleground.  
  
And at this the Goblin laughed. Spiderman thought his little words could stop him? Oh, no. It would take much more than words - something more like actions would be needed. And, as it appeared, the hero wouldn't be doing anything until he could get his footing. Perfect.  
  
Breaking into a run, he nearly fell twice in the mess the rain had created, but reached the control panel before his rival. Winter-gray eyes gazing down into the open pit between the trash compactor's jaws, the Goblin grinned. "Morning sleepy-head," he called down to his host's son.  
  
And at this Harry groaned again. What the hell had happened? The last thing he could remember was leaving his apartment to go to lunch with his father... And now he was somewhere else - though he wasn't quite sure where, because his vision too blurred to make anything out - in the rain. Rubbing the back of his head with tenative hand, he gazed up through clouded vision at whoever was talking to him.  
  
"Head hurt, Osborn?"  
  
Blinking away the film that had inhibited his vision before, he gasped first when he saw where he was and then a second time when he noticed who had been talking to him. "The paper said you were dead."  
  
The Goblin shrugged. "Talk is cheap. And, in fact, I'm already tired of this conversation. Sorry Osborn - it was fun while it lasted." And with that, the jaden-clad demon pushed the single red button that started the trash compactor.  
  
* Let's see Spiderman fight me -and- save Osborn's son. * 


	10. Manipulations

Author's Note: Well, I've been threatened with the jedi powers of two jedis here at ff.net. ::grins:: So, in fear of my life, I post another chapter. Ok, not really. But hey, it's sounds a lot better then me actually trying to rationalize why I'm posting another chapter. ^_- Heh... Read, review, and be merry.  
  
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Heart racing and chest screaming in protest, Spiderman watched in horror as his enemy reached the control panel, pushing himself harder than he had ever pushed himself. He had to reach Harry, and he had to stop Goblin. But now his forest green rival was blocking his path, and the super hero, still at a run made a quick decision. Harry came first. Goblin could wait.  
  
Making a mad dash and putting all his strength into it, Spiderman flipped over his opponent, heading straight for the confused boy that lay in the lion's den.   
  
A grin spread across the Goblin's face as he watched the other man run towards the pit. So Spiderman was going to skip the fight part and risk his life to save Harry? Not on his time. Reaching out deftly, he attempted to wrap his green-bound fingers around his rival's ankle to pluck him out of the air and pull him back into their fight.  
  
And sure enough, the Goblin succeeded, pulling the super hero down from his great leap. Unwilling to waste time, Spiderman turned around awkwardly to face the Goblin, hitting the ground with a soft thud which caused more pain to rack his body like waves upon rocks.   
  
This was no good. Resorting to his secret weapon, Spiderman turned again, raising his hand and firing webbing directed at the Goblin's eyes. Not waiting to see the results, he continued to struggle with his enemy's grip trying desperately to get away and at Harry.  
  
Yowling like a cat that had just been thrown into a bathtub full of water, the Goblin released his grip on Spiderman for a moment to claw wildly at his eyes.  
  
With his foot now released and his ankle likely sprained, Spiderman hobbled off as fast as he could, lowering himself down into the compactor and ignoring fire that was coursing through his body.  
  
"Harry, take my hand! Quickly!"  
  
Not one to argue when his life was on the line, the younger Osborn reached up and grabbed the hand that had been offered to him.  
  
Using the webbing that slept within his body once more, Spiderman, after gripping onto something sturdy, began to hoist himself and Harry out of the death trap that was becoming smaller and smaller. Body aching with the added weight and webbing weakening with the rain, the blue and red clad hero glanced about nervously as he continued to lift them up and out. Where was the Goblin?  
  
"Quick," He started, holding on tightly as he watched the webbing begin to snap. "Climb out. Hurry."  
  
Nodding mutely, Harry climbed out, nearly slipping back in to the rapidly closing deathtrap twice as he did. And when he finally reached somewhat solid ground, an even worse fate was awaiting him. The Green Goblin, who was peering down at the college-aged boy with a far from happy expression on his face.  
  
"I thought I told you to buzz off," the Goblin growled, slipping a hand around Harry's neck. With a sharp jerk he drug the auburn-haired youth to his feet and shot a quick glance at the trash compactor before looking back at his host's son. For half a second, he considered tossing Harry back in, and then he decided against it. Spiderman would just catch the boy again if he fell. So instead, he tossed Harry aside casually, only looking back once - at Norman's pleading - to see if he was still alive. And he was. In evident pain, but alive.  
  
Returning his light gaze to the pit, half of him prayed that the spider would slip and fall to his death.   
  
Rain still pouring down around him, Spiderman grimaced once more as another strand of the webbing snapped, leaving him with a weakening escape rope. There was no way for him to grip onto the walls, they were too slippery with filth and water to really get a hold of. His only way out was up and it seemed now that this was failing him as well.  
  
Another snap and he was pulled away from his thoughts. He didn't want to die, that was for sure. Climbing up the rope as fast as his deteriorating strength would allow, he barely made it out before the compactor slammed shut behind him. While normally, this would make him sigh with relief, he had no chance to rest, for, standing in front of him, was the Green Goblin, Harry laying in pain only a few feet behind him.  
  
The Goblin sneered. "Don't know when to die, do you, hero?"  
  
"Don't know when to stop, do you, Gobby?" Spiderman spat back, voice soft as he continued to struggle with his breathing.  
  
A fierce snarl passing his parted lips, the green-clad villain lunged forward, ready to restart the deadly dance of blows they had started earlier.   
  
And far behind them, Harry Osborn stood slowly, leaning on the remains of a car to keep his balance. Spiderman and the Green Goblin were fighting over him. Why, he didn't know. Maybe it was over which way he was supposed to die, after all they were both murderers, but he wasn't going to stand by and let them come for him in their own sweet time. He was going to escape. But to do it, he needed a weapon. Spotting the javelin-like remains of a TV antenna, he hobbled over to it, eyes locked on the two fighting me the entire time, his body crying out in pain every step of the way.  
Catching hold of the Goblin's hands as they grabbed his shoulders, Peter was able to hold him off for a little, digging his heels into the dirt. He glanced behind the Goblin as they stood at a stalemate, watching Harry get up and dash off toward a pile of junk. But he didn't let his eyes linger for long.  
  
"This needs to stop." He muttered, starting to push back against the mental case that was trying to kill him.   
  
"Well, you could always end it and die."   
  
A crash echoed somewhere behind the two of them, and the Goblin took a second to look over his shoulder, spotting Harry near a pile of garbage, which had just toppled all over the muddy ground. Sneering at his host's son, he took a second to direct a kick at Spiderman's ribs, before turning away from the wall-crawler to go after the younger Osborn. So Harry wanted in on the party too? That was fine with him.  
  
Gasping in pain, Spiderman crumpled to the ground, holding his wounded rib and struggling, once more, to breathe. Damn bones and their ability to break. But he couldn't stop. He had to give Harry time to escape. This in mind, he stood once more, costume coated with mud and silt, lunging at the back of his rival in an attempt to knock him down.  
  
"Harry, get the hell out of here! Hurry up!"  
  
The college-aged boy blinked, lowering his weapon ever so slightly. Why was Spiderman protecting him? He had killed his father... so why all the bother with saving him? Frowning, he shook his head, as he watched the Goblin stumble and fall as the red and blue hero jumped the villain.   
  
"No."   
  
Not like the Green Goblin or Spiderman would let him get away, anyway.  
  
"No? What do you mean, no? Do you want to die?!" Spiderman shouted, struggling to keep the forest green menace below him under control. God, was that a task.   
  
"Get out of here before he tries to kill you again!"  
  
"I'm not going to let you try to kill me the minute I try to get away," Harry snapped back, raising the jagged pole across his chest as he watched the Goblin struggled to get back to his feet.  
  
"You idiot!" Spiderman snapped back, pressing all his weight onto the Goblin's back. "I'm not the one trying to kill you, he is! I'm trying to save you!" This was so frustrating. Here he was, trying to save his best friend from his homicidal father, and he had the crazy idea -he- was trying to kill him. God, fate was so cruel.  
  
"Then why did you kill my father?"  
  
"Yeah, hero," the Goblin began, disdain dripping off ever word, "why -did- you kill his father?" Standing suddenly with a great burst of strength that pushing Spiderman off of him, he offered a taunting grin. It was evident now that if he was going to kill Spiderman - and eventually Harry - he would need the younger Osborn's help. And what better way to do it than to goad his host's son into attacking - and most likely distracting - Spiderman long enough for him to make his move.   
  
"Enlighten us."   
  
He clenched his jaw, hands forming into fists as he pushed himself up from the ground. "I didn't kill Norman Osborn," He started, moving slowly forward in order to keep both men in sight. "The Goblin did that. I was trying to save him." He pointed at the eccentric villain that stood only a few feet away. "If anyone's to blame for your father's death, it'd be him." Spiderman paused, turning to face the Goblin fully.  
  
"In more ways than one."  
  
"He's lying," the Goblin hissed in return, raising his hands defensively as he caught Harry's eyes with his own. "I tried to help your father. He walked in to the middle of a fight between Spiderman and myself, and I told him to get away."   
  
It was a half-truth. His alter ego -had- interrupted his fight with the youthful super-hero in an attempt to beg for his life. But the Goblin had by no means told him to go away... in fact, it was the green-clad monster who demanded Norman step in and do something for once. Still, it sounded good enough, and from the confused expression on Harry's face, he could tell the college-aged boy didn't know what to believe.   
  
Good. Confusion would make it easier for the auburn-haired youth to swallow whatever he told him.  
  
"I told him to get away, but your father insisted he stay. He wanted to stop Spiderman as badly as I do. He wanted to stop the -hero- from killing anyone else, like the web-head had his board members. And I tried to help him, Osborn. I tried to help him keep Spiderman from hurting you... or MJ... or Peter."  
  
"Harry, listen to me." His anger was building at how ridiculous this whole situation was. What bothered him more was that Harry was actually listening to the Goblin. "I didn't kill your father's board members. He did. Remember? He attacked during the Unity Festival. Blew the floor right from under you and almost killed you and Mary Jane in the process." The visions, the memories... they were all coming back as he tried desperately to convince Harry he was the one telling the truth. He hated thinking about all of that. He'd put it behind him, something he'd hoped never to relive again. But here he was, recounting his nightmares over and over. "And he was the one that attacked Peter's aunt and tried to throw Mary Jane off the bridge." His hands balled themselves into fists, flexing the muscles that had been aching only a few moments ago. "He almost killed all those children. All without remorse." Oh how he wanted to punch the Goblin right then. He thought better of this though. If he attacked the Goblin, he'd only use that as something to convince Harry.  
  
"Do you remember that Harry? Reading it in the newspaper? Do you remember all the horrible things he did? All the lives he took without second thought?"  
  
Now Harry's eyes found Spiderman, confusion clouding them. Who did he believe? Spiderman, the man who killed his father? Or the Goblin, the fiend who'd murdered the board members? Biting his lower lip and tightening his grip on the jagged metal pole, he resolved to stop them both, eventually. But first, he'd get Spiderman for killing his father... because at least he knew that was a fact.  
  
Pointing the antennae at the wall-crawler, he lunged forward, shouting, "Did you take my father's life without a second thought, too?"  
  
And at this, the Goblin grinned, folding his arms over his armored chest. Good. He'd said something that had been more influential then whatever Spiderman had tried to feed the young CEO of Oscorp. Now all he had to do was sit back, relax, and wait for a opening in which he could use to attack Spiderman. 


	11. Sins of the Son

Author's Note: Ooh... the second to last chapter. ::grins:: Fun. Anyway, this is by far my favorite. Dunno why, though. Maybe because it's full of angsty goodness and stuff. Ah well. Anyway, read and review. ...My, I say that a lot. -.-*  
  
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The hero's spider-sense went wild as Harry lunged at him, barely escaping the antennae's point as he turned, trying to keep his eyes on Harry and the Goblin at the same time. This was terrible, a complete catastrophe. For the first time in a long while, Spiderman wondered if, perhaps, he wouldn't come out of this alive. What hurt more, however, was the fact that his best friend might be the one to take his life, still believing him to be a murderer.   
  
"Harry, stop! I didn't murder your father!" He shouted over the roar of thunder that echoed through the sky, lightening flashing in the distance. It was at this time he realized he'd left his back open to the Goblin, and he cursed himself silently for being so stupid, hoping to move fast enough so that he could keep himself protected from father and son.  
  
"Liar!" the young Osborn shouted, his accusation almost inaudible as thunder tore through the sky once again, the sky lighting up at almost the same time. And as he stabbed forward with his weapon once again, the Goblin noticed the opening that his nemesis had left. Now was his chance.  
  
His winter-gray eyes trailing over a pile of garbage only inches away, his hands flew out, reaching for the first thing that he saw that could be considered a weapon. A television, its front smashed in. Lifting it over his head as he pulled it from the heap of rubbish, he grinned sardonically and then slammed it down, attempting to smash the wall-crawler's skull with it.  
  
"I always knew television would be the death of people your age."  
  
With Harry lunging at him from the front and the Goblin looming down at him from above, Spiderman grimaced, turning pale beneath his red and blue attire. He turned to the side, the antenna clipping the side of his stomach as he cried out in pain, blood flowing freely to meld with the mud. This, however, didn't stop the Goblin, and, in almost slow motion, the battered hero could only watch, in shock, as the television slowly came down. With a sickening crunch, Spiderman, fell to his knees, holding his shoulder, which, he concluded, was broken. So he'd turned enough to prevent the madman from breaking his skull. That was great. But damn it, his shoulder was in excruciating pain and he couldn't move his arm.   
  
"This could be the end..." He muttered, glancing up at Harry. His best friend. He would have never imagined it. Silently, he begged for forgiveness as he lifted his uninjured arm and shot webbing at Harry's feet, hoping to trip him up.   
  
And it did. Within seconds, Harry was down, his head smacking the muddy ground with a wet thump. Groaning as he hit the ground, he lay there for a second, giving the hero a moment's reprise on one front. But the auburn-haired youth's fall did not stop the Goblin.  
  
"This -is- the end, Spiderman," he growled, a gloating smirk on his face. Reaching once again for his enemy's neck, he let a cackle slide past his lips. "Say hello to Osborn in hell for me."  
  
With renewed strength and swelling anger, Spiderman gripped the Goblin's arm, allowing himself to be hoisted off the ground. With all his strength, he lifted his leg and kicked with all his might, head spinning as the pain and loss of blood were becoming unbearable.  
  
"How can I do that if he's not dead?" He whispered harshly, breath heavy and slow as he watched the Goblin with intensity.  
  
"He'll be dead soon enough, web-head," the demon answered, nearly dropping his rival as the kick hit him in a tender spot in his side. He would not let go, however. He was too close to what he had wanted to let the little spider get away.   
  
Apparently Harry Osborn felt the same way. Gripping the pike with all his might, he struggled to stand through swimming vision. From what he could tell, the Goblin had Spiderman by the neck and if he could just get close enough, he could spear them both with one fell swoop. He pressed forward slightly despite his body's protests, and when he thought he was close enough, he lowered the weapon. Now the two monsters who made his life hell would pay. Now he and his father would truly be safe. His jaw setting in fierce determination, he lunged forward with all his might, to spear both spider and goblin.  
  
Senses tingling and with failing vision, Spiderman did the last thing he could think of. Swinging his legs up, he found that tender spot once more, and, using both legs this time, pushed against the Goblin with all his might, forcing him to release his grip on him and allowing the agile spider to flip backwards out of his reach, and, he noted as he landed, out of Harry's path.  
  
And instead of skewering both men, Harry found only the Goblin on the end of the antennae.   
  
A harsh gasp escaping his lips, the green-clad lunatic sank to the ground in pain. No! This wasn't fair! He was supposed to win this time! He -was- winning! And now, he was all but laying on the ground, his host's son's weapon piercing the lower part of his heart and lungs, each breath he took filling his lungs with blood. It was only a matter of time now before he met the grave again... and he had a feeling that whatever Dark God have given him a second chance the last time wouldn't make a repeat performance. Especially considering the wound he had now was a dozen times more fatal than anything his glider had done.  
  
Drawing a harsh, rasping breath, he looked up with at Harry with venom in his eyes. "Harry, he was right... he didn't murder your father. You did."  
  
"I - I don't understand." the younger Osborn answered, his hands falling away from his weapon in shock.   
  
"Why don't you ask the web-head," he hissed, reaching slowly for another pumpkin bomb hidden on his person. If he could distract Harry and Spiderman just a few seconds longer, he could take them both with him.  
  
Spiderman stood slowly, blood still trickling down his side, pain racking his body as he moved forward, step-by-step. This was twice he'd failed Norman. Twice he'd failed to save the man and reunite him with his son. This, he mused, was half of the reason he'd decided to help Harry and Norman in the first place, the other half being that the younger Osborn was his best friend. He was a fool, to think that he could make them the perfect family again, but, he reminded himself, at least he had tried. That had to count for something.   
  
"Harry... maybe you should step away from him."  
  
Harry nodded mutely at the red and blue-clad hero's request, but failed to move. The Goblin was going to die. Sure, that's what he had been trying to accomplish, but now that it was a fact and not just wistful thinking, it gnawed at the edges of the younger Osborn's mind. He had hurt someone. Someone was going to die because of him. And to make matters worse, the part of him that was still somewhat coherent was busily trying to find out what the Goblin had meant when he had accused him of killing Norman Osborn.  
  
And that moment of hesitation was all the Goblin need. Pushing the small red button on the side of the bomb he had pulled out of seemingly thin air, a flash of light and fire caught the trio, sending them all flying.  
  
Thrown back into a wall of trash, Spiderman gasped, costume tearing in various places while his mask remained intact. For the second time that day, he felt another rib crack as he fell, face first, into the muck of the junkyard. He remained motionless for a moment, catching his breath and trying to will his body to move one more time. Rain fell on him heavily, a moan escaping his bleeding lips as each droplet, each tiny dagger, slashed into his back. Finally, he was able to move again, and slowly, he raised himself, casting a worried and blurred gaze around him.  
  
"Harry...?"  
  
The man in question let a loud moan that bordered on a scream. Unlike his super-hero of a roommate, Harry didn't have the above average constitution he possessed. Where the explosion had only broken another rib on Spiderman, the young Osborn now sported dozens of bruises, several burns, two cracked ribs, and a broken wrist. And the Goblin had been as equally as unlucky as his son, now laying dead at the foot of the glider that had taken his life the last time.  
  
"Harry? You alright?" Spiderman asked, softer tone taking over as he moved to stand next to his best friend. Leaning down, and biting his lower lip to keep the pain back, the spider wrapped his friend's arm around his neck and lifted him up, starting to walk away from the battlefield and the prone form of the Goblin.   
  
"Come on, let's get you home."  
  
"Wait," Harry choked out, half-heartedly trying to keep the hero from dragging him out of the junkyard. He needed to find out who the Goblin had been... who he had killed... and he didn't beat around the bush when he spoke next. "I need to see who he is."   
  
Spiderman hesitated. Was that a good idea? He didn't think so. Finding out he'd killed his own father would hurt Harry more than the pumpkin bomb had. But, for reasons unknown, the web-slinger loosened his grip, an action that would undoubtedly allow Harry to escape from his grasp. Silently, he wondered if Harry would forgive his alter ego if he found out it was his father. But that was selfish, and reprimanded himself for even thinking about that.  
  
"Are you sure about that?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
And with that, the auburn-haired youth moved over to his father's fallen form, each step causing him pain. Holding his ruined wrist to his chest, he lowered himself to kneel the ground to the aid of his good hand. For a moment, he just sat there, fearing what he would find under the unbroken jaden mask. Then, time passing in slow motion, he took a deep breath and reached for the small golden clasps that held the mask in place.  
  
Snapping them open, he used his unharmed hand to pull the mask away and what he saw made his eyes widen in shock. The Green Goblin was his father? No. No, it wasn't possible. His father wasn't a lunatic. His father would never have tried to hurt him, or Peter, or MJ. But even in his denial, the face of his father staring up at him blankly - features locked in death - made so much sense. The odd laughter at times that drifted through the Osborn Manor. The argument he and his father had gotten into over Mary Jane at Thanksgiving. The strange disappearance of the green demon after his father's 'death'. Hell, even the comment the Goblin had made about him being the death of his father. It all fit perfectly.  
  
And now, not only did he have blood on his hands, but it was his father's blood.  
  
Now, he had been the death of both his parents - his mother in childbirth and his father now.  
  
"No," he whispered, tears and rain mingling freely on his cheeks.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
He really hadn't meant for it to turn out this way. He was a hero, he was supposed to save people. And, in a way, he supposed he had saved Norman. He trusted that there was no way the man would have wanted his son dead by his own hands. Death meant freedom for him. But that was dumb. No life should have been claimed. Why couldn't he save everyone? Why?  
  
"I'm truly sorry." He whispered, letting the wind carry his words to the younger Osborn. He stood there a moment, letting the boy grieve as he diverted his eyes from the scene. "You need medical attention Harry. Come on."  
  
Nodding dumbly, he stood, his eyes remaining fixed on his father for a moment before meeting Spiderman's hidden gaze. "What about him?"  
  
"I'll come back for him after I drop you off." He stated softly, moving to take Harry's arm once more. "And I'll return him to your home. Just as I did before." He stopped for a moment, turning to meet Harry's gaze. "Is that fine with you?"  
  
"Fine," Harry choked out, emotion making speech hard.   
  
With a nod, the stronger of the two men started off, carrying Harry toward the exit. "I know it hurts... but try not to let that consume you," he muttered to Harry as they reached the exit of the junkyard. God, did his shoulder hurt. Struggling to breathe and unable to use his arm, Spiderman paused for a moment, catching his breath as he glanced around the street. Hopefully, no one would see him.  
  
"I think I might have to call you a cab." He joked, starting his trudge toward the hospital once more.  
  
Harry forced a smile. It was true. He couldn't let the fact that he had killed his father take over his life. But it was so damned hard. Was this how Peter had felt when his Uncle Ben had died? Harry didn't want to think about it. And speaking of Peter, what was he going to tell his best friend? Was he going to spill the truth... let his roommate know that Norman Osborn had really been the Green Goblin? Or would he keep it to himself, knowing that in the past he had trusted peter with everything? He didn't know, and the thought itself wiped the false grin off of the younger Osborn's face.  
  
"I... I can get to the hospital myself if you want to go back..."  
  
"Let me walk you a few more blocks. That way, I'll know you're in a... 'safer' neighborhood," Spiderman replied as he kept moving, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I'll be fine, but you... I'd worry to much about you to get there and back safe."  
  
"Thanks. But why? I mean, I tried to kill you..."  
  
"Despite what you thought, I save people. It's my job," he answered jokingly, a light chuckle escaping his still bleeding lips as he glanced at Harry out the corner of his eye. "Besides, I know what it's like to lose a father... and I know that under normal circumstances, you wouldn't have acted like that." Harry was his best friend after all. Not that Spiderman could ever tell him that.  
  
And at that, Harry simply nodded, unsure how to answer or if he even wanted to in the first place.  
  
"Here you are." Spiderman stopped his walk and removed Harry's arm from his neck, before backing away slowly. "Make sure you get yourself to a hospital fast." The hero stated, turning to leave.   
  
"Sure," he mumbled, turning away from the hero and moving in the direction of the hospital only to pause before taking too many steps. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth to say something before shutting it again. Then, taking a deep breath, he tried once more, this time finding his voice.   
  
"...I'm sorry you couldn't save my father... But... I know you tried..."  
  
It was the closest thing the hero would ever get to an apology from Harry Osborn.  
  
Underneath his burnt and tearing mask, the super spider smiled, a genuine smile that hadn't found his face for God knew how long. He didn't reply, too caught up with the fact that Harry had actually 'apologized' to say anything, but nodded to show he'd heard and understood. Continuing his slow walk, Spiderman watched Harry over his shoulder for a few minutes before turning full round and heading back to the junkyard, one thing in mind.   
  
Norman Osborn's body. 


	12. Worlds Apart

Author's Note: ::in a cheesy announcer's voice:: And now for the not so startling conclusion to 'Sins of the Father'. ::snickers:: Ok. Sorry. Just wanted to say something funny - or maybe not so funny o.O - in my last author's note. Well, anyway, here it is. The end of months of hard work. And I miss writing Harry and Norman already. Oh well. There's always room for a sequal. ...And before I let you go about reading, a special shout out goes to all the people who have bothered to read this craptastic fic. Thank you. All of you. ^_^  
  
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Three and a half weeks had come and gone since the incident in the junkyard. Three and a half long, painful weeks in which Harry found himself falling away from Peter. It had started first with the fact that he had to lie about what had happened to his father.  
  
"The Green Goblin kidnapped me, dad found out and tried to save me. And the Goblin killed him," he had said, regretting every syllable of it. He had never had to lie to Peter before. Even in the most extreme of cases. But he wasn't willing to let anyone - besides Spiderman - know that his father had been a lunatic. It was too much for him, let alone the rest of the world.  
  
After that, it had simply gone downhill.  
  
Harry now avoided Peter whenever he could, working himself to death or making up some excuse when the other boy tried to plan something for them to do. Why, the younger Osborn distanced himself from his friend was far from a mystery, but it had taken until today for him to admit it to himself. Simply put, he had been avoiding his long-time friend out of fear. Fear that something horrible would happen to him, as had the rest of the people that meant anything to him. Fear that Peter would shun him for lying if he ever found out. And that realization sparked another.  
  
He couldn't be around Peter anymore, at all. He needed to get out of the apartment they shared.  
So, slowly, he had started moving his things out of his room. Slowly he had started to sever all ties with the man he had considered his best friend for only God knew how long. Now his room was empty. Now all it came down to was telling Peter he was gone, but that he would still keep up his end of the rent so that the other boy could keep the apartment. Sure, it hurt. It would hurt both of them. But if it saved Peter more pain on account of him in the future, then that was all that had mattered.  
  
Now he stood in the living room area, pen in hand, ready to write some half-hearted apology to the other boy - who was conveniently not at home - explaining that he was leaving. Permanently.  
And just as Harry had begun writing that letter, Peter walked in, one arm in a sling and the other holding a small package. It had hurt to lie to Harry about his injuries, just like it had hurt when Harry had lied to him about his father. But then, he reminded himself, he'd made no move to tell Harry that he was Spiderman. So they were both hurting each other. He sighed as he placed the package down on the table, having not noticed the other man in the room, and started to open it, finally removing a sparkling new picture frame. So he'd paid more than it was worth, that was fine. All he wanted was to preserve his cherished memories.   
  
"Oh, Harry!" He called cheerfully, finally spotting his closest friend and companion standing in the middle of their living room. "What are you doing?"  
  
"I... I'm leaving Pete."  
  
"What?" Peter's hold on the frame loosened slightly. "What do you mean?"   
  
Harry took a deep breath, his eyes sliding closed for a moment as he considered how to word what he said next. Then, with a sigh, his light eyes flicked open. "I'm leaving... going back home. I can't live here anymore."  
  
"But... but why?"  
  
"I... I just can't," he responded.   
  
God, how he just wanted to tell Peter everything right then. About his father... about Spiderman saving his life... about how he really got his wounds. Everything and anything that had gotten in the way of their friendship in the last couple of weeks, he wanted to share it with his friend. Maybe that way he could stay, maybe that way he could salvage what he friendship he had left. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. If not for himself, then for his father.   
  
"Look, Peter, I'll keep paying my half of the rent... so you don't have to worry about the apartment or anything..."  
  
"Why are you running away from me?" Peter blurted out, smacking himself mentally for speaking before he thought about what he was saying. But in reality, he really did want to know why Harry was running away. He'd thought he whole incident would strengthen their friendship, like his father's first 'death' had. Why now did he decide to give up on their friendship? Peter wanted and needed to know, and he didn't plan on letting his friend leave until his questions were answered.  
  
"I'm not." It was a lie. Another in so many.  
  
"You're lying to me. Why?"  
  
Taking another deep breath and this time holding it, the younger Osborn set down his pen and notepad. He couldn't lie to Peter anymore. It wasn't right. Peter deserved to know as much as he could tell him. And besides, he doubted his companion would let him leave if he didn't at least share some of the truth. Letting his breath out in a harsh sigh, he started slowly, his eyes downcast, "My father died because of me, Peter. Maybe the Green Goblin did the actual damage, but he came looking for me. It was -my- fault."   
  
Another half-truth. Peter couldn't know what had really happened... that he had the blood of Norman Osborn on his hands. At least what he said next wouldn't have to be anything less than the truth.  
  
"My mother also died because of me. In childbirth. ...I think that's why dad resented me so much. Because I had the only thing he loved more than Oscorp last. Mary Jane almost died because of me. Your Aunt May almost died because of me. -You- almost died because of me. And I can't deal with that." Tears clinged to the rims of his eyelids. "I can't deal with the fact that anyone I care about gets hurt. Or worse.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
This was wrong. This was all wrong. Harry was leaving because he thought people he cared about got hurt? But, that was what Peter believed. It was like talking with himself and, as deja vu ensnared his senses, the youth couldn't help but look away, eyes closing softly to stop his own waterfall of tears.  
  
"You're sorry? But Harry... you can't be serious. It's me. I'll be fine, you'll be fine, everyone will be fine. The Green Goblin is gone. There's no one left to hurt you or any of us." Blue eyes fluttering open to meet those of his roommate and closest friend, Peter, for the first time in what seemed like forever, couldn't stop the tear that trailed down his cheek, resisting the urge to wipe it away.   
  
"There's no need to go."   
  
"Yes, there is," the young Osborn responded, his eyes looking away from his friend's. He couldn't look at Peter. He couldn't. "Please, Peter? Just let me go."  
  
He held his breath, eyes searching his friend's face for a reason, a logical reason, that he should not go. For the first time in his life, Peter Parker's mind was failing him. He couldn't think of anything plausible that would even remotely catch Harry's attention or even have him considering changing his mind. What then, he mused, was the point of being a genius? Obviously, it wasn't helping in dire circumstances.  
  
"Like I could stop you." Peter finally stated, releasing his held breath as he stood up straight. Placing a cheesy grin on his face, his eyes shining, the blue-eyed hero wondered if, perhaps, this was his fault. Averting his eyes, which revealed his thoughts and very soul, Peter stepped aside, as if physically removing the roadblock in Harry's path.   
  
"I could never fight with you," he began, hands crossed across his chest. "You were always stronger. So... if this is what you want, I understand."  
  
"Thanks," he responded half-heartedly, as he moved to open the door. Pausing for a moment, Harry shot a meaningful glance over his shoulder and then stepped out of the apartment for the final time, closing the door behind him.  
  
That was it. No "good-bye", no "see you later", no "we'll be friends no matter what, so don't look so sad". Peter stared at that door for nearly ten minutes, wondering if he should rush after Harry and confess everything. He wanted to tell him that he was Spiderman, that he understood, and that it was okay for his friend to stay because he would protect everyone. But something stopped him from sprinting down the hall, something glued him to his spot and kept his still watering gaze on the door that separated him from his best friend.   
  
"No matter what, the people I care for always get hurt," he whispered, another tear sliding down his cheek. He hadn't cried since after graduation and the cold diamond that snuck down his cheek was an abrupt reminder that he still had tears left. He'd thought he'd shed them all after his Uncle's death. Silently, he wondered if Harry was hurting as much as he was, and he cursed himself for being so weak. This was the second person he'd let walk out of his life.  
  
"Why can't I protect the people I care about?" He shouted at the air, slamming his fist against the counter top. Ignoring the shooting pain that raced up his arm, Peter turned away from the door, squinting his ocean blues shut as more tears threatened to overflow.  
  
"I'm so sorry Harry... for everything..." 


End file.
